


Penance

by SherlockMalfoy



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Ability Control Issues, Angst, Background Claire/Gretchen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nathan is a dick, Post-Series, Slow Burn, Sylar Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: Years spent in an empty world as equals changed them both in ways they never expected. In the aftermath of Samuel Sullivan’s defeat the monster and the hero learn to find their own way in a world that had already broken them.Gabriel seeks redemption for his past sins. Peter wants only to escape a family legacy built on lies, deceit, and manipulation.When there’s no one left to trust they find that the only thing left that still feels real, that they can trust and believe in, is each other.





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second attempt at this ship as well as this fandom.  
> Notes to keep in mind: Ignore Reborn and literally everything else except what actually made it onto the main show seasons 1-4. Also, assume that all of Heroes seasons 1-4 take place between October 2006 and December 2007 (since the 2009/2010 date given for Claire's jump came in through spinoff media and Reborn - not the show proper.)

_**DECEMBER** _

 

Empty.

Cold.

Desolate.

These words had often been used to describe the space by those who visited in recent memory. But not always. Those who had seen it before all the ugliness, before the chaos began, would have said it was cluttered and warm and bursting with personality and the unbridled optimism of the man who lived there.

It may have been true of the man himself, once. But over the course of a year and six months? Not so much. The eternal optimism and cheer had worn away, leaving cynicism and empty space in its absence.

Empty space that now had slowly begun to be encroached upon.

Two empty mugs, not one, sat in the sink waiting to be washed. A bed mussed with one pillow while the other sat neatly beneath a rolled up sleeping bag in the corner of the living room.

A second toothbrush stood in the stand on the bathroom counter. A second brand of shampoo and body wash had been tucked into the cabinet beneath the sink.

A very small collection of five or so books sat neatly on the bottom shelf of an otherwise empty built-in bookcase. They were arranged according to size and color to be pleasing to the eye. A medium sized cardboard box sat beside the pillow and sleeping bag, the flaps folded inward and holding a very small selection of shirts and a spare pair of black jeans. A few personal undergarments.

All items neatly placed out of the way. Yet in the empty space they seemed as if flags planted to mark territory now belonging to another, invading force. Their very presence in the space an anomaly, bringing some small semblance of warmth back to the cold and lifeless hovel.

The front door flung open as the apartment's owner staggered in awkwardly carrying boxes under each of his arms that he shouldn't have been capable of even holding in such a way, let alone carry them. He was followed by another man, carrying more boxes with ease. The door was shut behind them without being touched as the boxes were set down just inside the apartment.

"I told you," said the second man, shivering as his muscled arms began to thin just a little. His face rearranged with a wince and a suppressed groan, and his height shortened just a few inches while his hair darkened and his skin paled. "Telekinesis is the gift that keeps giving. I have never had a more versatile ability." To illustrate his point, the boxes were moved seemingly of their own accord through the apartment. They were neatly stacked below a window while at the flimsy card table, a chair was pulled back by another invisible hand and the man sat down. "This is the all purpose ability for anything you could ever want to do."

His companion had moved to the kitchen as all of this had happened, seeking anything that might pass as a snack or a drink. A half-empty jar of mustard stared back at him from his refrigerator alongside three cartons of left over Chinese. He frowned and turned his attention to the door, pulling out two bottles of water.

It had been a week since the other man had followed him home after his heroic deed at Sullivan Brothers' Carnival. A week since he'd dug out his old sleeping bag and threw it at him without comment or complaint. He stepped out of the kitchen, tossing one of the bottles without looking as he passed his house guest. The bottle was caught without a second thought as the man made himself more comfortable in his chair.

"It's your day off. Sit back and unwind a while Peter."

"They were supposed to drop off the sofa four hours-"

"So I'll sleep on the floor again. I don't really care."

"Gabriel-"

"I've had worse. It beats a park bench or a murder scene."

"Not funny."

He smirked and took a sip of his water. "It'll get here when it gets here. Don't worry about it."

The two men spent the evening sitting in the floor of the apartment with hex wrenches in hand, attempting to decipher the ever confusing instructions that came packaged with IKEA furniture. Despite his real ability, his Intuitive Aptitude, the IKEA flat packs were still amusing puzzles once he began to ignore the instructions and sort them out on his own.

They hardly spoke as they worked, the sounds of the city the only noise outside their own breathing and the occasional grunt as a finished piece or a box was moved. Chinese was warmed up and brought out of the kitchen around and they broke to eat. A quiet word muttered to pass the soy sauce packets. Or request a water bottle to be refilled from the tap.

It was comfortable. It was familiar. And both men knew it shouldn't have been.

Given their history - the hero and the serial killer - one of them should have tried to kill the other after the first twenty-four hours let alone a week. And yet, they'd spent Peter's only day off for the week at IKEA. Sure it was at an IKEA in Maine just to avoid anyone that knew either of them, but it was still not something expected of the two men who should by rights be at each other's throat.

But then...

Their shared history now went beyond the year or so since they had first met at Union Wells High School's homecoming night. A not quite thought out plan and a series of very rash spur of the moment decisions just one week before had changed everything between them. Sure, it didn't change the fact that Peter had his brother's murderer in his apartment sharing leftovers from the day before with him. It didn't change the fact that they met only because Peter was playing hero and Gabriel had sought out a girl with the sole purpose of killing her for her special ability to heal. It didn't alter the violent past and blood spilled between them - but it seemed so far away now.

Physically, nothing had changed.

Mentally? The two men at the table, passing soy sauce packets while they took a break from refurnishing an apartment that now had become a safe haven for both from the chaotic world outside the window, were so drastically different than they had been a week prior.

They had a middle ground that took years to find and build upon. Years that passed in hours of a nightmare turned bearable dream by the appearance of another living being in an empty world of silence and isolation.

As evening faded into night, and the city that never slept began to at least quiet down a little outside their door, they had settled in for another round of frustrating and incomplete diagram and instructions. A small radio had been dug out of a closet and set up nearby, filling the silence between them with random noise they could both agree on at a tolerable level for two people accustomed to absolute silence.

Gabriel had just completed putting the finishing touches on a desk Peter had insisted on buying for him. The intent was to have a place in the apartment for himself. A semi-permanent fixture where he could sit and conduct his personal hobbies and interests as a way to help manage his... appetites. But also placed somewhere in the open to keep him from feeling isolated from the only person willing to put up with him. Peter had his bedroom, and now Gabriel had his corner with his desk.

"Need a hand?" he asked, looking over to where Peter still struggled with what should have been a simple nightstand for his bedroom.

"No," he barked back in frustration even as Gabriel shuffled across to help him anyway.

"Go to bed. You have work tomorrow. I can finish this tonight and you can move it in the morning."

Peter gave a token protest before climbing to his feet and popping his back. He'd sat hunched like that for hours working with little hex wrenches and tiny screws and plastic toppers to hide the screws in the solid white or black panels. "I don't have to work until the night shift."

"Still. Work tomorrow," he replied, pulling a half-constructed drawer into his lap. "Will it bother you if I turn the radio up a little? I need the distraction."

Peter shrugged. "Should be fine," he mumbled as he fought off a yawn.

**o0o**

He hadn't been able to sleep, and around dawn could stand it no longer. Gabriel had quickly changed into something comfortable, chose an appropriate and nondescript body to shift into, and left quietly with the intent to just pop out, pick up some things for breakfast, and return before Peter woke.

It seemed a reasonable plan. After stopping by a thrift store and using the rather handy thieving skills he had learned in his life on the run to pick up some innocuous costume jewelry, he turned the few pieces to solid gold and found a seedy pawn shop to fob them at for quick cash.

Sure, he'd turned over a new leaf. He actively sought redemption for his sins - but as he had once told Noah Bennett... Rehabilitation doesn't happen overnight. He had no job, no income other than what he could turn to gold and sell, and he had learned since gaining the Midas Touch ability from Bob Bishop that there's just some things you can't sell even if they're solid gold. Petty crime, Gabriel determined, was a skill he would keep for the time being until he sorted out a means to an income that Peter would find acceptable.

By the time Gabriel found himself standing in an aisle at a small market near Peter's apartment, trying to decide between brands of corn flakes to purchase, morning had slipped into midday and the decidedly bothersome noises of life and the hustle-bustle of New York City had finally become intolerable, leaving him longing for the eternal blessed silence of his nightmare. Or at the very least his quiet corner in Peter's sitting room.

Returning to Peter's, he could hear the man himself pacing about on the other side of the door. Quietly he reached out with telekinesis and unlocked the door to let himself in.

Peter whirled around at the sound of the door opening, ambivalence in his eyes as to whether he should be relived or livid. Even from more than six feet away Gabriel's newly found empathy could feel Peter's anger rolling off in waves despite his relief.

"Hm... Perhaps I should have left a note," Gabriel said, passing through to the kitchen to sort his purchases.

Peter spoke as calmly as he could into his phone before hanging up. "Called in early," he snapped from the other room.

"Shame. I was hoping to have dinner before you went to work," he replied loudly. His reasonable response prompting Peter to step into the doorway of the kitchen as Gabriel began to put items away.

"Is that all you-"

"What else do you want me to say? If you were expecting an argument then I'm sorry to disappoint you. We needed food, so I went to get some."

"You've been gone half the day. For all I knew you'd gone hunting again."

"I don't do that anymore."

Peter ran a hand through his still sleep-mussed hair and half-groaned half-sighed as Gabriel finished and began making a pot of coffee. "Yeah... yeah..." he said, more to himself than for his companion's benefit. "I just... I don't like the idea of you running off alone, you know? So soon after... What if the wrong people found you?"

"I made sure to choose another body before I left. One from outside of New York so a to be less recognizable."

"You looked like yourself when you came in."

Gabriel froze for only a few seconds mid-scoop of coffee grounds. It was a subtle thing but did not escape Peter's notice. After all, the two had spent a significant amount of time in close quarters already. More than long enough to note one another's habits, ticks, and quirks. When he spoke, Gabriel's voice was threaded with a forced calm. An attempt to keep his tone even despite the concern he felt. "I see... I had not realized the ability had worn off." He closed the coffee can, using telekinesis to put it back on the shelf above the sink as his hands busied themselves with sliding the filter compartment back into the machine and filling the reservoir with water. "I couldn't sleep," he said in an attempt at deflection. "And left just after dawn. Perhaps I'm more tired than I thought."

It was mostly a lie. He honestly had not felt his body change back to it's natural form. Had not even noticed it. But the rest... the rest was a lie. He knew that Peter knew it was a lie, the Italian Eagle Scout didn't need lie detection to know it; only time spent in lengthy observation gave Peter the intimate knowledge necessary to pick him apart as easily as he picked apart the brains of his past victims. That, and they both knew the benefits of rapid cellular regeneration. His body did not need rest. It did not need sleep. He could spend the rest of his unnaturally immortal life wide awake and fresh as a first morning's light in spring. His body didn't need it. But his mind did. His mental state, as fragile and volatile as it already was, needed regular rest and recuperation otherwise he may just go mad. Again.

He nearly turned to lash out on instinct when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. All that stopped him was the now familiar tingle of Peter's ability being used on him. He pulled himself from his thoughts by focusing on the sensation of his roommate's odd ability selection process. The tingle that spread from where his hand made contact, a welcome warmth that seemed to flood into him.

He felt a static shock of electrokinesis as Peter bypassed it. The sudden, split second vertigo as he contemplated taking flight before checking another. The tingle at the base of his skull and the ringing in his ears of lie detection before it too was bypassed. A full body flush from empathy preceded the burning itch that usually accompanied skin stitching itself back together. This he felt longer, the warmth of Peter's ability almost caressing it before it turned its attention to another...

Panic. Anger. Hunger. He closed himself off quickly and the burn-itch of cellular regeneration returned before Peter pulled his ability back. So many sensations, so many abilities thumbed through almost like a personal Rolodex for the empath to choose from.

"Never that one," he snapped, taking a step away and refusing to look Peter in the face. "We agreed to sort me out without using it."

"I can't help you if I don't underst-"

"You've had it before, and you can't control it. You killed me, you tried to kill your mother. No."

"But-"

"If I can fight my temptations, then so can you." He reached out to hit the button on the machine, turning it on and waiting for the first few drips of dark liquid life to fall into the glass pot on the burner. "I'm tired," he lied again. "I'm going to lay down. If you have time to eat, I bought those fake soy sausages you like," he said, moving past Peter while trying not to touch him at the same time, lest the fool try to rifle through his abilities again.

Peter pinched between his eyes as if trying to stave off a headache as he listened to the rustle of a sleeping bag and a fist punching a pillow to make it sightly less lumpy. When he passed back through to his bedroom to get dressed for wok, a cup of coffee in hand, he spared a glance at the corner. Gabriel lay huddled in his sleeping bag, facing the wall and glaring at it.

"I'm sorry," he'd said. "I shouldn't have done that."

"You're lucky I didn't kill you for it," came the grumbled reply.

"I just wanted to see... how strong it is now. So I know how hard you're having to fight it."

"Shut up and go to work, Peter."

The empath sipped his coffee and gave a nod in his direction. It was the closest to accepting an apology as he would get, and he knew it. The tone lacked it's usual venom and bite, which was a good sign. Gabriel wouldn't forget what he did, but he was at least partially forgiven. More than anyone else could or would ever get from the man - that was certain.

**o0o**

The first of his two shifts had gone reasonably well so far. The only reason Peter didn't feel the exhaustion of being overworked and getting called in to cover an earlier shift had been the fact he had taken rapid regen from Gabriel. Thumbing through the other man's abilities as he did had become easier the more he was allowed to practice it. Though the right to do so may have just been revoked earlier in the day.

Each sensation he felt as he touched on each ability was different. The first few times he'd taken an ability from him, when he was still Sylar, he hadn't had time to examine all of the different sensations. He hadn't had the opportunity to stop after each one to test which ability he had gained so that he had something to associate the sensation with. It had always been instinct and, now that he knew how his ability worked when in contact with Gabriel, sheer dumb luck that he got the ones that he had wanted at the time.

The more he practiced, the more Gabriel too seemed to learn. Able to feel the same sensations he did, when he did. The sudden shifts between them to denote that he was looking at another power within him.

But the last one... He couldn't help himself if he were honest. The one thing he could always feel, an underlying current of want and need hidden just beneath the surface of all Gabriel's other abilities. He hadn't intended to stop and look at that one power, the one that was the cross his companion bore. He'd intended to stop at regeneration, since it was the ability that in his current state was most beneficial. And yet... he couldn't stop himself. His curiosity was too much. He wanted... no, he needed to know.

"Maybe that's part of the feeling for it," he'd said out loud to himself as he restocked the back of the ambulance for the next shift, his previous partner having already left for the day. It was the blessed time of shift change. Normally his first partner would have stuck around with him so they could fill in the next guys but since Peter was pulling a double, he offered to fill in the next guy himself. It made it easier since his next shift was with Hesam.

"Feeling for what?" A hand slapped his back in a familiar and friendly manner. Peter stiffened for a second before relaxing again.

"Hey man," he said, turning and raking a hand through his hair reflexively. "Yeah, just thinking out loud again."

Hesam shook his head and stifled a laugh. "You've been doing that a lot lately. Roommate trouble?"

"Sort of," he said, turning and grabbing one of the ambulance doors and shutting it, his partner doing the same with the other. "He's uh... getting bored. Wandering off."

"So? Make him get a hobby, or help him get a job."

"It's... a little more complicated than that," he said. The pair climbed into the cab and Peter switched the radio back on. Hesam had worked with him long enough to know it meant Peter was done talking about anything personal.

Though to be honest, when Peter showed up to work after missing a shift the week before that he'd gotten a roommate, Hesam was actually relieved. He knew he was the closest thing Peter had to a "friend" in the place, other than the woman from the records room he'd started talking to a lot recently, but knowing that Peter actually had a friend outside of work was something he had wanted to celebrate. It meant Peter had someone else to look after him now since the man's brother had... well...

The train of thought was derailed when they got their first call of the shift. Both men went on autopilot and got to work.

**o0o**

Peter's next shift hadn't gone all that well. Their first call of the night had been multiple drug overdoses at a holiday party. A false alarm out at the university which necessitated Peter to give his obligatory scathing lecture about calling 911 only in true emergencies. Three heart attacks (one of which died in transit). Before they clocked out for a break, they'd handled a very messy attempted suicide.

He had been so focused on the job, on trying to save the teenage girl, that he failed to notice the tingle just below the surface of his skin when he'd touched her to examine the wounds. Thankfully the girl didn't know what the hell she'd been doing and her self inflicted wounds were not life threatening... though a few millimeters one side or the other in the other direction he'd have been trying everything he could think of, even giving her a taste of his currently regeneration fueled blood, just to save her life if he could.

However this was no disaster - it was mostly cosmetic damage that looked a lot worse than it really was.

In those moments of trying to assess the damage as a worried grandfather hovered around close-by in near panic as Peter and Hesam tried to keep the girl from going full on hysterical, he hadn't noticed it. The burning sensation behind his eyes after the experience he simply attributed to exhaustion.

He hadn't been aware he had been drawing on the Styrofoam lid of his boxed dinner from an all-night diner they'd parked outside of. Not until Hesam had elbowed him gently in the side to compliment him on it.

"Didn't know you could draw like that," he'd said.

Peter stared down at the black ink on white foam. A few holes poked by the ballpoint into the thin surface, but no other imperfection. The quality had improved vastly since he last had the ability. Had he not been trying to work out the subject matter and what it could possibly mean, he would have taken the time to appreciate the line work.

He set the foam box aside, having lost his appetite and reaching for his phone. "I gotta make a call," he said quickly, his phone in hand with his other free to open the door.

"We're about to go back on the clock!" Hesam called after him.

"I'll just be a few minutes, I need to check on someone," Peter replied, shutting the door and walking around to behind the ambulance. He scrolled through his contacts quickly, searching for the right number before jamming his thumb on the button. It rung out twice to voicemail before he tried a third time and got an groggy, and upset, answer.

"What the hell! Do you even know what time it is?"

"Uh... yeah... sorry. I wasn't thinking-"

"It's the middle of finals week and-."

"You're back at school? In DC?"

"Yeah. And trying to sleep." He heard a muffled voice in the background before Claire grumbled. "It's just my uncle Peter. Go back to sleep."

Peter sighed. At least he could be assured that she wasn't where he'd drawn her. So that was a good sign. Meant he could avoid whatever it was that led to the scene he'd scribbled on his dinner box.

His prolonged silence must have been too long as Claire's voice came through the receiver much more clearly and alert. He thought he heard the soft thud of a door in the background on her end. Maybe she'd gone to the hallway to talk to him... "Peter, what's wrong? Did that son of a bitch-"

"No, it's nothing like that." He sighed and leaned against the ambulance, watching cars drive by. "We uh... I had to handle a suicide case tonight. Attempted suicide. We got there in time."

"And you thought of me? I don't know if I should be concerned about you or about myself." She gave a soft, anxious chuckle that he returned.

"Nah. Usually I only think of you when we scrape up a jumper. It's sort of your calling card."

"Ah... so that's why you called. Look Peter I had to do it. You know I had to. I couldn't stand the lies anymore."

"I know. You had your reasons. Just like we had our reasons for having Rebel cover it up. And we're never going to agree on it."

He imagined she was shaking her head, unwilling to accept a compromise, and knowing that neither would he. "Look. If I had it all to do again, I would."

"And you know what I'd do, too," he said. "Hey, that's not why I called. I just wanted to check on you. See how you're holding up. It's almost Christmas. First one without Nathan. I know it's sort of last minute but, you think you might could come for a day or two and stay with Ma before you head out to Costa Verde to see your mom?"

"Can't. Promised dad I'd hang out with him after finals and before I head out to California. But hey, maybe we can make it for New Years before the next term starts."

"We?"

"Yeah. I'm taking Gretchen out there with me so I'm not tempted to freak out Doug again."

"Doug?"

"Mom's new boyfriend. Lyle hates him. But, he's got the perfect dog wife for Mr. Muggles so... what you gonna do. It's puppy love, apparently."

Peter smiled, his worry for the most part assuaged for now. He had plenty of time before she would be in New York again to figure out what he was going to do. How he was going to handle whatever it was he'd drawn.

"Hey!" he heard from the front of the ambulance. "On the clock! Pile up on the bridge! All hands on deck!"

Peter called back to let him know he'd heard him. "Gotta go. I'll see you at New Year's then."

**o0o**

When Peter crawled into the apartment that next morning, he didn't even stop to say hello. He took the offered cup of coffee from the hand sticking out of the kitchen, dropped into one of the new chairs at their new table, put his head down and groaned loudly as Gabriel had come to sit and eat.

"Bad night?"

"I'm too tired to complain."

"I thought you had regeneration."

"Teenage girl around 12am. Both wrists."

"What did she have?"

"Precog."

"Angela or Parkman?"

"Isaac," he replied, lifting his head and nodding towards his bag by the door. "It's in there."

A flick of a finger. The emergency medical bag slid across the hardwood to the table before Gabriel bent down to pick it up and set it where his breakfast had previously been. He opened the bag and peered inside. Nothing but medical supplies. "Peter?"

"Down the back side. Only way I could get it to fit," he mumbled and took a sip of coffee. He sighed. At work there was never enough sugar - that and the coffee was always too bitter. The upside to being trapped with someone for five years? They learned to make your favorite drink exactly the way you liked it. If there weren't extenuating circumstances that led to the two of them continuing their cohabitation together, he'd have to make up some obscure reason to keep him around for the coffee alone.

Gabriel pushed the bag aside once he'd found the piece of Styrofoam. A raised brow the only indication of his curiosity at the canvas of choice.

"This is very good," he said, ignoring the jagged edges of where the sides had been hastily removed to make it easier for Peter to store it away for travel.

"That's what Hesam said."

"You did this in front of him? Does he know-"

"No. Night shift. And I had my head down. Did it in the cab on dinner break around 3."

He looked closer at the ballpoint on foam picture. It was clearly Claire Bennett. Her hair pulled back from her face and her arm outstretched with a gun clasped tightly in her hand. Aimed at... something. Someone off the scene. Clearly the location was Peter's apartment. He could see his own desk in the background to one side, in his corner at the window. In the opposing corner, behind the profile view of the deadly cheerleader was a small, shabby Christmas tree.

"This is here. But in the future."

"Yeah." He sipped his coffee again, leaning back and slouching in his chair.

"Presumably during Christmas. The tree there in the back."

"I called her. Ended up waking her and Gretchen both up."

"Roommate. No abilities. Awkward brown haired girl."

"Yeah that's her."

Gabriel smiled, more to himself than to Peter. "She has kind eyes," he said. "Do go on. I'm sure she was pleased to hear from the man who ordered the full scale cover up of her miraculous live TV reveal."

"Not at first, no. We agreed to disagree on that point. I just wanted to know what her holiday plans were."

"So you could plan ahead for this."

Peter nodded. "We'll be fine until New Years. She'll be at Ma's for a few days then before going back to school."

Gabriel moved the medical bag out of the way so he could finish eating his breakfast. The drawing sat on the table in front of them, oriented to match the wall in the background which had the ink version of Claire pointing her line-art pistol towards Peter's bedroom. Peter contemplated what it meant, and his conversation with Claire before he found himself yawning. It hadn't been the first time. Realization came to him with a frown. "You gave me decaf."

"You wouldn't go to bed without a cup, and you won't sleep if you're caffeinated. Work tonight. Go to bed."

"But the sofa-"

"I plan to read today. I'll let them in if they arrive, and I won't kill any of them without warning you first."

"Not funny."

He smirked back, a few drops of maple syrup dribbling down his chin before he wiped at it with a napkin. "It was to me."

Later that evening Peter woke to a quiet, empty apartment.

And a large piece of paper taped to the outside of the french doors of his bedroom, facing inward through the glass at him that simply said in bold, now familiar red scrawl, _"I AM WASHING LAUNDRY IN THE BASEMENT. BODY OF DELIVERY MAN IS IN THE PULL OUT CHAIR."_

This had prompted Peter to panic, throw open the doors and look for any signs of blood and murder in his apartment. He found none, but did find the finally delivered furniture they had ordered. After cautiously approaching the chair that pulled out to a small bed, he lifted the cushion and yanked it out to it's full length to find... another note.

In the same scrawl, also red. _"MADE YOU LOOK."_

**o0o**

Gabriel made it a habit of making his notes ambiguous, or at the very least funny to himself. Twice he'd had Peter worked up thinking there was a body stashed in the apartment. A few times he had Peter thinking he had gone "hunting" only to return with meat from a butcher's rather than the grocery store because he liked the quality of the cuts better.

He felt that if he had to notify Peter of his every motive for going outside the apartment, he might as well have fun with it at his expense. The notes were always straight forward and honest, though his word choice had been such that his notes could be interpreted any number of ways. And he always chose red for the sole purpose that menacing words written in red tended to incite panic and led many to assume the worst. An added bonus to his odd little psychological note writing game.

Peter, of course, had figured it out after a two days, but let it continue as it had become a bit of a personal amusement for himself as well. An inside joke between friends, though he was still reluctant to call the reformed killer something as intimate as a friend. Not yet.

In the six days leading up to his birthday, and then Christmas just two days after, Peter had become more and more withdrawn. Gabriel had understood why, and sought to do something nice for him.

He'd put a simple flier up in the basement laundry room giving his first name, apartment number, and offering to fix broken items. Radios, watches, anything. He'd listed hours and days he knew Peter would not be home, and a simple fee. Doing so had the added bonus of informing Peter he'd found a way to earn money, legally, and not resort to selling Midas touched stolen jewelry.

By the time he was ready to get Peter's gift, he'd made enough from the other residents of the building to purchase a small used television, DVD player, and a few movies from a nearby pawn shop. And get a cheap dinner for himself.

As it happened, Peter had stopped home long enough on his birthday to shower, change, grab and leave a note behind for Gabriel that he'd be in late or not at all - he had a date with Emma.

So, when Gabriel had returned, found the note, and eaten his pizza he simply set up the television and player, left a half-hearted note in reply about happy birthday and busied himself with reading.

**o0o**

Christmas had been a somber affair. Neither man wishing to acknowledge it more than a mumbled "Merry Christmas" in passing and a slightly nicer dinner the evening of. Peter picked up an extra shift as an excuse to avoid his mother's annual Christmas party.

Neither dared mention erecting a small tree to brighten the place up a bit, as it was a stark reminder of the foam box drawing Peter had brought home.

A drawing that, unknown to Gabriel, was not the only one.

Since the incident in the kitchen, where Peter had been picking and choosing an ability only to nearly take the one he knew he would never be allowed to copy, he had not been allowed to replace the one he had. Not from Gabriel. Any attempt in the days that followed it had been met with resistance and a flash of annoyance.

The man's next day off, New Years Eve, was marked with frequent calls from his mother. A few from Claire. And text messages from Emma asking if she should bring something or how fancy she should dress for his mother's party. Gabriel had spent the day hunched over at his desk with a small tool kit Peter had gotten him as a belated Christmas gift.

He'd just hung up, reassuring his mother that yes he was coming when there was a knock at the door. "You order out or something?" Peter had asked, fastening the cuffs of his shirt as he went to answer the door.

He was quite stunned to find a young woman standing there in an evening gown, smiling quite happily at him. "Oh hi! You're the roommate, right? I'm looking for Mr. Gray."

"Gabriel?!" he called back into the apartment.

The young woman leaned forward some to see past Peter. "It's Jenny! From 1302!"

Within seconds Gabriel had come up behind Peter, smiling what Peter knew to be his best false smile, and holding a wooden box. When he coughed Peter stepped back and away, hiding in the kitchen. No, he wasn't trying to eavesdrop at all...

He could hear the pride in Gabriel's voice though as he talked with Jenny from 1302, who was apparently off to her own New Years Eve party.

"I know I'm a day early, but I'm being dragged out at the last minute. Thought I'd come by and check on that music box since I'll have a hangover tomorrow and won't want to crawl out of bed."

"Sorry it wasn't ready when you stopped by the other day. Finding parts for one this old is very difficult since these went out of production in the eighties. I did have to build a new crank mechanism, so it may be rather stiff at first when she winds it up for some time. I've included a small tube of oil just in case. Should get it unstuck in no time."

Peter edged closer to the doorway but tried to make it appear he wasn't listening in.

"Thanks so much for this Mr. Gray. You have no idea how much this means to me. I didn’t think I'd ever find someone to fix it for her. How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"But you said-"

"I said it would be ready two days ago, and it wasn't. So consider this a late holiday gift."

"No no, I couldn't do that. You worked really hard on this."

Peter heard a rustle of fabric. The snap of a pocketbook and the crisp crinkling of paper. "Here," she said. "Good fortune for the new year, alright."

"I-"

"Take it, Mr. Gray. You deserve it."

"If you insist," he said, and Peter assumed he took it. "If you wouldn't mind, let me know how she likes the work. I'd be very interested to know if the improvements I made are to Ms. Clairborne's satisfaction."

The two bid goodnight and Gabriel closed the door, counting the bills before pocketing them and returning to his desk. Peter poked his head out before stepping fully into the light of the living room lamps. "What the hell was that?"

"That was Jenny from 1302 picking up the music box she asked me to repair for her."

"Okay... be more specific. Why did she ask you to fix-"

"Because I put a sign in the laundry room saying I would fix things for residents, and a list of items I can repair for a reasonable fee."

All the while Gabriel did not look up from the project on his desk. "You insisted on buying a desk for me. I am simply putting it to the best use I know how and cooperating with your insistence that I not break the law while under your roof."

"I... Well... yeah. Good. That's... that's good," Peter said, unsure exactly what to say to that. It wasn't like he was breaking the law. Nor was he going out of his way to be a nuisance. Hell, Peter hadn't even had a clue it was going on since apparently the man had confined his interactions with the others in the building to when Peter wasn't in or when he was out of the apartment himself.

Gabriel shrugged. "You'd better hurry before your date thinks you've gotten cold feet and your mother sends her goon squad. I doubt she would be pleased to learn I'm actually living here with you rather than visiting frequently."

Peter would have sighed in defeat if not for the fact that he'd been running on such a tight schedule to begin with... Gabriel didn't even look up from the object before him when he lifted his hand. A wave of a finger sent a tie and suit jacket hurtling from the open bedroom towards the sofa where Peter could more easily get to them. "Hurry up and leave so I can order Chinese and work in peace. The world is distracting enough without your constant jogging back and forth like an over excited puppy."

"I am not a-" But he was interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. A quick check, the text from Emma reminding him to finish getting ready. Gabriel gave him a cursory farewell as he worked, relishing the peace and quiet afterward.

In Peter's absence Gabriel could finally relax. He didn't have to struggle so hard to keep his mouth shut, especially lately given such a festive time of year. A time for getting together with friends, and family. A time that, whether Gabriel liked it or not, caused the annoying part of him that was still made of Nathan Petrelli to rage against his own consciousness in an attempt to claw his way back out. To reach out to Peter through the memories Gabriel unwillingly carried around with him.

Like ice skating on Peter's 11th birthday. Or the year they roasted marshmallows in Arthur's study during a blackout at the Petrelli vacation house at Martha's Vineyard, and Peter had gotten molten marshmallow all over Arthur's case notes for an important trial for one of Linderman's goons - and Nathan took the blame because Peter had already gotten in trouble for messing about earlier that day. And last February, when Nathan in an alcohol fueled rage refused to leave Peter's apartment because he was waiting for his little brother to come home. The only indication Gabriel had that some memories of Peter's apartment belonged to Nathan had been the clutter of Peter's life before destiny decided to drop kick all of them, or the clutter combined with Nathan's liquor bottles from the four months Peter had gone missing after Kirby Plaza.

At times like these, like tonight, it was harder to fight it off. Harder to keep from slipping up and saying the wrong thing and setting Peter off. It was easier, in the non-world where they had existed alone. Nathan's presence was like Chinese whispers. Sometimes floating at the edge of his consciousness, but more prevalent in his environment rather than his memory. The Peter Pan statue that existed solely in his nightmare had been an element of Nathan slipping through. A fixture in the park of his mind long before Peter ever showed up insisting he was trapped in a dream. The occasional Vote Petrelli button or poster he'd find while scavenging for clocks and watches to repair. Service medals from a military Gabriel had never joined. Books he'd never read. Clothes he'd never worn. Food he'd never liked or eaten.

As long as he kept himself busy, kept working on something to keep himself distracted and his hands occupied he was less likely to give in. Less likely to acknowledge the man in the three piece suit sitting on the sofa behind him where he'd telekinetically thrown Peter's tie and jacket, the invisible target for which he had aimed.

"You deserve this, you know."

"Fuck you, Petrelli," he muttered under his breath as he turned his current project over so that he could watch the clock face as he made minor adjustments to the time.

"Come on, is that any way to talk to your conscience?"

"You're not my conscience. You're a parasite."

"A parasite that's keeping you in a muzzle."

Still not quite happy with the timing mechanism, he turned the clock over to make more adjustments inside. "Your presence did not force me to change. I chose to change. To be better than I was."

"Keep telling yourself that. But you and I both know it's not true. If they didn't put me in here, you'd still be out there killing, and my brother would keep getting dragged in to stop you."

Gabriel muttered to himself, "Now I know how Parkman felt." He then set down his tools and stood to fetch his coat.

The imaginary ghost stood, tugging gently at the sleeves of his jacket before smoothing his hand down his red tie. "Where are we going? I thought the plan was a night in with Chinese."

"Out," Gabriel snapped as he walked right through his annoying, unwanted personal demon.

Nathan chided him and was quick on Gabriel's heels. "Too bad you can't just get drunk to drown me out. Or at least laugh as I get drunk with you. That was a really bright idea Parkman had. The man doesn't have many good ones, but that's in the top five. My daughter’s ability really is a neat party trick. Remember Mexico? She drank everyone under the table. Couldn’t be prouder. And now, she isn’t even here and she’s ruining your night."

"Do you ever shut up!"

Nathan bounced on the balls of his feet beside him as he stood at the front door. "You know what Peter always said about me. I love the sound of my own voice."

Gabriel nearly yanked the door off it's hinges as he opened it to step into the hallway. With each step towards the elevator he felt the ripple of his flesh as he shifted into his usual nondescript disguise. Bits and pieces of people he'd been before put together into a generic person.

"Hm. Look at that," Nathan said from beside him. "Those are my ears."

**o0o**

Once he'd left, Peter's night had gone reasonably well. Emma looked stunning, as he knew she would. He'd drawn it a few days before while Gabriel had been getting a load of his uniforms done in the building's basement.

Angela had been surprised to see her on her son's arm, but she had hidden it nearly too well for Peter to notice. Nearly. He had little time to wonder about her reaction as he resolved himself to enjoying the night's festivities.

Claire had been easy to find, as she had been searching for him since before her grandmother's party had begun. She'd expected him to arrive sooner, but nevertheless was overjoyed to see him. Peter gave her a tight hug before pulling away to arm's length and taking a good look at her with a bright smile. "How'd finals go?"

"You mean after you woke me up in the middle of the night? Pretty good actually. Gretchen had me studying nonstop to make up for all the classes I missed dealing with... you know." She shrugged and gave a general universal 'all of this mess' gesture. "How about you? Been keeping yourself busy?"

The obvious unasked question remained suspended between them. He nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Between my job and my 'volunteer work' I've been pretty busy. But hey, you know me. Champion of the lost causes."

"Some lost causes can't be saved, Peter."

"True. But don't they at least deserve a chance like the rest of us? Especially when they have little to no control?"

"Most do. But there are some lines, Peter, that once crossed you can't come back from. You used to know this."

He looked past Claire briefly, spotting his mother and gave his niece a tight nod and a smile. "It's New Years. Let's end the year on a good note. God knows the both of us deserve it."

"This isn't done, Peter," she said as she let it drop for the sake of the night's festivities. And he was right. The last year of their lives had been hell on wheels if she were being honest. Between the two of them they had saved the world no less than three times over the last 12 months alone, and sacrificed too much to have walked away unscathed. "How about I go get us some punch?"

"Yeah. That'd be great," he said. "And I'll go rescue our dates from Ma."

"Gretchen's not my-"

"Claire, I'm an empath. It's sort of my thing to pick up on all that messy emotional stuff. Plus, it's kind of obvious the way you look at her." He patted her shoulder as he passed her, heading towards his mother and the two women.

**o0o**

Gabriel had picked up an order of Chinese on his way to Central Park. Sitting on a bench, eating and people watching. It was easier to pretend that his annoying phantom was just another person who happened to be pestering him this way. The noise and the people were too much, but it was better than sitting alone in Peter's apartment yelling at the ghost of the man's dead brother, who existed only inside his own head, for the remainder of the night.

From his bench he could see the area where the Carnival had been just a few weeks before. The earth was still torn apart, just a bit, from Peter's battle against Samuel Sullivan. The Carnival had long since disappeared, leaving behind the scars of a single battle. It could have been far worse... Silently he picked out the very spot he'd been standing in when Claire had jumped from the ferris wheel. The words he'd said still made his skin tingle with excitement. Though it had been covered up, at Peter's insistence for everyone's better protection - and he did agree with that sentiment - his own existence now was something new and spectacular, even if he did have that parasite trapped inside him.

"Hate to say it, Sylar, but I have to agree. After everything I did Claire should have known better than to expose everyone. The girl never listened to either of her fathers, let alone learn from our mistakes."

Gabriel said nothing, but instead sat and ate his broccoli beef and noodles.

Nathan made a face at him, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"It could be worse," Gabriel said after a while with a smirk, glancing to the space beside him where Nathan sat, but didn't actually sit. "At least I didn't get the egg foo young."

"Don't joke about that."

"Why not? It's actually good."

"You'd really put yourself through reliving that memory just to piss me off?"

Gabriel shrugged. "If it gets you to leave me in peace for a week, I would consider it a noble sacrifice on my part."

"Fuck you Sylar," Nathan said as the rumbling of the city began to be drown out by celebration and the night sky exploding in bursts of color and light.

"Fuck you, too Petrelli," Gabriel replied before taking another bite of his lonely meal.

When he arrived back at the apartment near dawn, he was not surprised to find Peter's bed still made and the place just as he had left it the night before. With a sigh, he took the cushion off the pull out chair and prepared his bed, mental exhaustion taking it's toll he was blessedly asleep soon after, the visage of Nathan fading with the arrival of slumber.

**o0o**

 

_**JANUARY** _

 

Another week passed before Peter had a full day off. Gabriel had attempted to make himself scarce when Emma had showed up, but she'd insisted that he stay since she'd also come to see him as well. It had caught him off guard, and he'd been unable to find an appropriate excuse after that.

Emma had arrived with a tote bag full of ingredients, banning both men from the kitchen after Peter showed her where everything was, save for when they needed a drink.

Gabriel then confined himself to his desk, working on an antique clock one of the building residents had brought to him that morning. Peter had sat on the sofa thumbing through the small collection of DVD he had acquired. Though most were ones he remembered telling him during their long sojourn in dreamland, he was always surprised when a new one appeared usually after Gabriel had gone out for the day in search of groceries or parts for his projects.

"Peter," Emma had said, getting her boyfriend's attention. "Will you set the table, please?"

Gabriel had turned from his work briefly, taking it as a hint to start clearing away his tools and getting his hands cleaned up.

Dinner itself was pleasant, though awkward at first. Gabriel was unsure how much Peter had told her about him, and he knew next to nothing outside that she worked in the records room at the hospital and knew how to play the cello. And that she was dating Peter.

It was clear, soon after, that Peter hadn't told her exactly how they knew one another. She'd been fed a line, like others, about how they had spent time in rehab together. While it wasn't exactly a lie, as their time together could have been considered a sort-of rehab for Gabriel, Peter had clearly meant the time Nathan had claimed Peter attempted suicide in October of 2006.

So he played along, ignoring the occasional buzzing-tingle of the lies as they rang and rattled through his head. Going with the lie made it easier to fall into comfortable, safe conversation with the woman. Over the course of the meal he found himself loosening up. He'd have blamed the wine paired with the meal, a Pinot Noir from New Zealand, if he could even get drunk. Peter had told some ridiculous anecdotes from work. Emma had talked about wanting to go back to medical school. Gabriel had tried, and failed miserably, to use sign language - which had given the woman a few chuckles as she kindly corrected him before he gave up altogether.

When asked what he did for a living, he'd shied away from the topic until Peter had opened his big mouth and told her he fixed watches. As a general rule, he'd always corrected anyone who put his profession so simply, stating that he restored time pieces and other gear and cog based mechanisms. While he himself found the entire process of restoring a watch or clock to be something he simply did, Emma had seemed very keen to hear what he had to say about it.

As Peter had cleared the plates away and set out small saucers of cheesecake Emma had brought with her, Emma had moved to sit in the seat to Gabriel's right as he held one of the watches from his desk and showed her the inner workings. He had just come up in the middle of the conversation when he'd brought the wine bottle to refill their three glasses, and had to fight himself not to react to the words he had heard.

"You can tell it's broken just by listening to it?" she had asked as Peter had filled her glass.

Gabriel nodded excitedly, holding the watch up to his ear briefly to illustrate that yes, that's exactly what he does. "I listen to it. It's like a symphony. Every piece has its part. All of them coming together into perfect harmony. When I was a boy my uncle used to tell me that if you can understand the complexities of a watch then you can understand anything. Everything. Cause. Effect. Action. Reaction."

The words were nearly identical to the same ones spoken to Peter less than a year ago. In a future that now could never be, from a version of the man sitting at his table that would never exist.

"Is that your ability?" Emma asked, her question breaking Peter from his thoughts as he set the bottle down and retook his seat at the table. "Understanding how things work?"

Gabriel had put the back of the watch back on and set it aside. "Yes," he said. "My original one."

"So you do what Peter can do? Copy someone else's?"

He hesitated to answer, but nodded simply. "Yes. But in a different way," he said. "I have to form a very strong friendship or bond with a person before I can copy their power. Peter just has to touch them."

"Like that time I pulled you out of the way of traffic, and then I could see sound as color." He signed as he spoke, and Emma nodded her understanding. Gabriel released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

The rest of the evening was less tense. Peter had put on a movie, ensuring that the subtitles were on for Emma, and Gabriel had returned to his desk, working by the light of a lamp. It was a calm, almost friendly atmosphere. As he worked, Gabriel wondered if this was what it felt like to have actual friends. Sharing laughter and a simple joy in their presence and company without the pressures of having to be perfect. Allowed to simply just be himself, or rather, more himself than he had been since Chandra Suresh first walked through the door of his shop.

By the time Peter had walked his girlfriend out to get a cab home, the three of them had agreed to have dinner together again. Maybe the next time Emma could play the cello for them.

When Peter had come back up, locking the door behind him, Gabriel had already changed and pulled out his bed. "Next time warn me."

"And have you run off to who knows where? Not a chance."

"Peter-"

"She's been trying to think of a way to say thank you for a month."

"I think you had that well and truly covered," he replied before a package was dropped into his lap when Peter passed through the room. "What's this?"

"From Emma. Christmas present," Peter called back as he stood just out of sight from Gabriel's chair-bed to change for the night.

He raised a brow, carefully hooking a finger under one side of the carefully wrapped package. He set the paper aside on the coffee table nearby. "World Without End."

"She wanted to get you something and I told her you really liked Pillars of the Earth so... It's a sort of sequel that came out in October but, uh..."

Gabriel nodded. "Interesting," he said, having already opened the cover to read the blurb on the inside flap of the dust jacket.

Peter poked his head back out of his room. "You like it?"

"Very much," he said, looking up. "I will write her a thank you note."

"You don't have to do that."

"No, but I want to. I do not want to take her kindness for granted," he said as he turned his attention back to the book in his lap. He'd closed it, and now traced the letters of the title with his fingers. "Or yours," he added quietly, thinking Peter could not hear him.

**o0o**

 

_**FEBRUARY** _

 

Peter noticed that Gabriel had started carrying a bag with him everywhere. It was a simple black backpack, similar to the one he'd carried around in the shared nightmare. He supposed it was mostly to carry his new book with him. He'd hardly put it down since the night he'd received it. He'd sent a card along with Peter for Emma to thank her for the meal and her gift.

She displayed it proudly on her desk with a few other personal keepsakes.

When asked she simply smiles and says it was from a special friend. It wasn't as if anyone would believe her if she told them the truth of what happened at the Carnival in December.

Peter hated telling her only half truths about his roommate. He also hated perpetuating the lie his own brother had spun when Peter had tried to show him he could fly, and instead had been caught then dropped to the alley. But the lie had turned into a convenient cover for anyone outside his special "group" who could learn of his living situation. Such as when Hesam showed up, bringing a rather drunk Peter home.

Hesam had dropped Peter's keys five times before Gabriel had gotten up from his bed and stumbled in the dark to the front door. "Damn it Peter, did you lock yourself out again?"

He flipped the switch by the door before unlocking it and opening it to find to very drunk paramedics swaying from side to side. "Hey uh-"

"Gabriel," he said simply to the slightly less drunk man. "Come on in. I'll make some coffee."

Gabriel spent the hours until dawn first trying to get Peter to drink something other than beer, and finally got him to nibble on a few crackers before passing out on Gabriel's pull-out bed. Hesam had crashed on the couch after half a cup of coffee. Gabriel did his best to drown out the drunken snoring by playing his radio as he attempted to tidy the apartment around the two sleeping men. He'd finished the kitchen at dawn, had scrubbed out the bathroom, and settled down at the dining table with his now well read copy of World Without End. A soothing cup of tea to drive away the winter chill and the book to distract from the ever present nagging of a man no one else could see.

If he ignored him long enough, Nathan would leave him be. That's how it usually went. And Gabriel was determined that it would be a good day simply to spite the ghost in the three piece suit that kept trying to talk to him about Peter and his drinking.

Drinking that, though Gabriel had never commented on it, had started to get steadily worse as time went by.

His attention was blessedly diverted by a groan from the sofa. And, for the moment, Nathan retreated back into the nothingness of Gabriel's subconscious. "Welcome to the land of the living, Mr. Hesam."

"How the hell... Where..."

"You're on Peter's sofa. In his apartment. Thank you for bringing him home last night," Gabriel said without looking up, turning the page in his book and picking up his cup for a sip of his hot tea.

"My God, how drunk did we get?"

"Judging by the fact that Peter is currently on my bed, drooling all over my pillow rather than staggering off to his own, I would say very. The coffee should be rather strong by now. I made it six hours ago."

Hesam had remained on the sofa for a little longer before reluctantly rising to use the bathroom, then set to trying to deal with his hangover. Eventually he sat in the chair across from Gabriel. A hot cup of black coffee sitting in front of him next to some dry toast. They sat in silence a Hesam ate and Gabriel read.

"Emma broke up with him."

That got Gabriel to look up. Hesam could feel him staring at him, but didn't meet the gaze. Instead he stared into his coffee like it may hold all the answers he'd ever sought.

"What? Why? This is sudden. The three of us have arrangements for next week for dinner. It's Peter's turn to cook."

"Oh, he can cook?"

Gabriel waved the question away. "I was going to help him. He can barely boil water. Now... She broke up with him?"

"Yeah. He's been... well... you know. Weird."

"He hasn't seemed to be acting strange to me."

"Well you live with him. You see him every day so you probably haven't noticed."

Gabriel shrugged. This was true... and he had been focusing far too much on his mundane projects, trying to keep himself out of trouble and fight his temptations. "I see..."

"I dunno what happened since December but we're worried about him. I've never seen him put that much back in one night before. Not since his brother last November."

Gabriel took a sip of his tea, only to discover his cup was empty. This was not going to be a good day after all. "And what do you expect me to do? I'm not his babysitter."

"I dunno. Keep an eye on him? You guys met in rehab, right? Maybe try and be sure he doesn't fall off whatever wagon he's on?"

"Ah. That. I'm not sure I'm the right person to-"

"You know him better than Emma and I do."

"He's supposed to be helping ME in my recovery, not the other way around."

Hesam shrugged, both hands wrapped around his coffee mug. "There's no reason why you can't help him while he helps you."

"Well..." Gabriel started, but trailed off at the sound of a second groan from his own bed. "I'll see what I can do. I make no promises."

**o0o**

 

_**MARCH** _

 

The reason for Peter's changing mood was not revealed to his roommate until a month later. Peter was suffering burnout from work. Always taking extra shifts before anyone else could take them. Juggling work with his mother, and Gabriel, and trying to work things out with Emma...

And the anniversary of his father's actual death - murder - was coming up.

Peter had screwed up on the job. His boss had ordered him to take a week off. Stress, everyone had said.

Paranoia is what Gabriel would have suggested as well.

Things had just been going too well. Since first gaining his abilities, or rather, becoming aware that he'd gained abilities, Peter's life had been one major disaster after another. Three months had been the record for peace in his life. Even then it had been an enforced peace while locked away by Primatech. Once month four had hit, he'd escaped, had his memory wiped, nearly been tricked into wiping out humanity, and then not long after had been the mess with his father and the formula.

Gabriel didn't count the time he himself had spent as Nathan because Peter had worked himself damn near to death then, too. And the five years in his nightmare didn't count because the fool of a man was stuck on trying to escape and save Emma.

Emma, who had broken up with him.

Emma, who had insisted they could still remain friends.

Emma, who they were both still friends with and in fact still had lovely evenings enjoying her company and cooking despite the awkwardness between her and Peter.

Emma, who Peter had angrily been ranting about an hour before until, in a desperate bid to stop him so he could concentrate on a particularly tricky winding mechanism he'd used telekinesis on to force him to sit and held his mouth shut with it until he was sure Peter would be silent and still.

When Gabriel had set is work aside, turned around in his chair, and released Peter's mouth to allow him to speak or shout again, the man had snapped angrily at him. "What the fuck was that, Sylar?!"

"Don't EVER use that name again," he snarled, clenching his fists in his lap even as the ever present taunting of the dead Petrelli brother chided at him to hold his temper from across the room.

"Why not? I didn't do shit to you and you forced me to sit here and-"

"Because I'm not THAT anymore!"

"You sure?"

"Damn it Peter, you know I don't do that anymore. I haven't killed anyone since him. He was the last one." He took a deep breath, glaring at Peter. "you want to know why she broke up with you? Because you're angry all the damn time now! You push yourself too hard and too far. And for what? You're pushing everyone away and eventually you'll be alone with no one but yourself."

"You'd know-"

"Yes, I'd know! How the hell do you think I turned into this monster?! I had no one, Peter!" He rose from his seat, unable to suppress his anger much longer. And in his anger he'd pulled back his power, giving Peter every opportunity to get up and leave. Or hit him. Whichever happened first, Gabriel didn't care. "Before all of this.. this shit! Before the powers, before that fucking geneticist showed up with his stupid broken watch and his book on mutation - I had no one! Completely isolated from the world in my dank little shop! A mother who's mind was already half gone, and debt up to my eyeballs that my mother was unable to pay and my father walked out on!

"No friends. No brother to bail me out of trouble. No secret company to cover up my problems. Just enough money to pay for my needs, and a neurotic obsession to keep everything in perfect order! So yes! Yes I know what it's like at rock bottom after you've lost everything!"

He willed himself to ignore the invisible senator, clapping sarcastically. "You really have had a pathetic life, haven't you?" Nathan pushed off the wall from beside the built-in bookcase, shaking his head and coming to stand behind Peter, who by now had also risen. "No wonder you were so ready to let our harpy of a mother try to adopt you. If I were that starved for affection I'd have done anything for the first person to just be nice to me."

Mentally Gabriel snarled back at him in annoyance. Outwardly, he stood staring at Peter, hoping that despite his frustration, his point was coming across.

"What makes you think-"

"You told me before that you'd never become me. If you don't stop and get yourself sorted out, that's exactly what you're going to be. Don't condemn yourself, Peter. It's a long climb back up." He wanted to reach out, the empathy ability from Lydia demanding that he make contact. Try to calm him down, soothe him, try and bring him some sense of peace. He forced himself not to act on it, but it had been very difficult to ignore the impulse to brush Peter's hair out of his angry eyes. So instead, Gabriel took a step back, holding his hands up in a signal that he was done. Let the floodgates open and Peter's anger flow out like raging rapids.

The moment his hands went up, he felt a shift in the room. A sudden, disorienting change that he could not explain nor describe as anything other than being hit in the face by a force of nature. Or an unstoppable force crashing into an immovable object.

As quickly as it had happened, it had ended. His face - his lips - tingling with the memory of an ability being taken. A quick mental assessment assured him the chains on the Hunger were still firmly in place. Undisturbed and left to slumber. So what had he...

Wide light brown eyes stared back at him. A sharp intake of breath as Gabriel regained his senses and realized his entire body tingled with heat. With a desire he had dared never act upon. "You do give a shit, don't you." It was said more as a statement than a question.

Gabriel continued to stare at him, taking a step back so he could test a hypothesis. "Peter, that ability you took, it's not like yours."

"You're right," Peter replied as he stepped forward. Still angry. Still a compact ball of rage. "It's a lot stronger."

"It makes you feel things that aren't your own. And makes you act on them when normally you wouldn't."

"So this is you then?" He took another step forward. "So you do actually have real feelings." Gabriel backed up and was met with his desk against his backside. "Does it let you make other people-"

"No."

"Who did you kill for it?"

"No one. It was used on me repeatedly for a week. I figured it out on my own when my memories returned."

"Good," Peter said.

"Now what?"

Peter closed what little gap there was left between them, and was glaring up at him. "Now you give me flight so I can climb out the window and take off in embarrassment like I'd originally planned to do."

Knowing Peter could read him like no other, know his feelings and emotions and could guess the thoughts behind them, made Gabriel all the more determined to bury them deeper. Smother them as far into the dark of his soul as he could find and leave them there. That power gave him an edge, but also curbed the Hunger to an extent by allowing him to feed off emotions around him rather than pure fear and power. It allowed him to fight harder than he could before... but it was also a double edged sword. One that in Peter's hands could completely unravel him. Force his hand to deal with things he'd rather not.

Peter reached out for him, and he grabbed his wrist, ensuring that he touched cloth rather than skin. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because the longer I stand here the more awkward it's going to get."

"No, I mean WHY?"

"To shut you up." The back of Gabriel's head tingled and buzzed as Peter brought his other hand up to grab the wrist of the hand that held his own. Gabriel felt the sudden vertigo behind the tingle of Peter's ability as flight was taken. He reached back to steady himself on his desk as Peter made for the window, opening it and climbed out onto the fire escape.

Seconds later he was gone with Gabriel staring after him in shock.

"You son of a bitch," Nathan spat from the room behind him.

"Takes one to know one, Petrelli," he replied, dropping himself into his chair and sitting with his head in his hands.

**o0o**

Peter did what he always did when he needed to hide. He found a roof. When he needed to think, he went to a very specific roof to care for the pigeons housed there. What he was not ready for was what he found when he'd touched down.

A man at the roost, clearing out the muck and the old seed. Lining the bottoms with fresh newspaper and pouring fresh seed in the bowls. Giving them fresh water from his fingertips.

He'd thought to duck back behind the greenhouse, take to the sky again, but was stopped in his tracks by the familiar voice that called out to him.

"Just so you know as long as this building's here, we'll always come up to think and hide from our problems."

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and stood by, watching his other self methodically tend to the pigeons. He looked so different this time. A little more relaxed. Like he wasn't spending his days running for his life. He had that same coat though. His hair was longer, too. Not slicked back, but decently groomed.

"Why are you here?"

"Same as you. Only I didn't want to be followed."

"Butterflies."

He waved his hand after putting one of the pigeons back in the roost and locking the door. "Not any important ones."

"When are you from?" Peter asked, maneuvering so he could see a bit more of the man who kept moving to keep his back turned towards him.

"Can't tell you that."

"Why are you really here? Trying to change something to make a domino effect? Shift things into your favor?"

"Not really. Life's actually pretty great," his future self replied "Like I said, I'm just here same as you. But now because I didn't want to be followed. It's one of the few powers we won't let him have. Too risky." A hand was held up to stop his question before he could finish thinking it. "And before you ask, you know exactly who I mean. It's bad enough dealing with his Hunger. Give him time travel on top of it? It's a recipe for disaster. You know how his guilt gnaws at him. He'd try to go back and fix everything. Can't let him do that. The future we have is actually a good one. Not worth the risk."

"So no one's trying to kill us?"

"There's always someone trying to kill us, Peter."

"And you're not just lying because you don't want to crush any butterflies?"

"Not lying. Though if you took lie detection instead of flight you wouldn't be so damn suspicious of yourself." Finally he turned, just a little, to allow Peter to see his face. He caught the bottom half of a scar that, like the last time he had met a future self, had cut diagonally across his face. "Everything is fine, I'm not trying to change the past to save the future. I just wanted to get away for a while and think. I forgot I was going to lose track of time and run into you."

"What's so bad that you had to come to the past, risk throwing everything off, just to get away from Syl-"

"Gabriel," he snapped quickly, interrupting him before he could finish the name. "Call him by his name. He's earned at least that much from you by now."

Peter walked around the roost, peering in at the pigeons from the other side, but still unable to make out his doppelganger's features all that clearly. "I don't know what he's earned from me. I forgave him for killing my brother. For killing me so many damn times. For dad. For Claire."

"You gave him a place to stay. Safe. Secure. Sure there's problems. Always having to worry when he's forgotten to leave you a note. Wondering if Bennet's going to show up on your doorstep to tell you he's killed someone again. Your friends finding out he's living there with you."

Peter ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Yeah... Look, I know you can't tell me what happens next. And you're me so you know why I ran off up here." His doppelganger nodded from his side of the roost. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

"For one, stop taking an ability you've never had before when you don't know exactly what it does. You won't stop, but at least you'll remember to stop and think about the consequences now so there's that. Second, does it change anything?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do, Peter. It changes a lot of things. Your own empathy's been broken since Kirby. You've been losing yourself ever since. When Nathan died, it crushed anything you had left. All you had was rage. Once you let go of that you've been going through the motions. Emma saw that and she cared enough to let you go. Let you sort yourself out."

"But I love her."

"You loved being in love with her. Emma just discovered her abilities when we copied them from her. She needed someone to help her learn about them. You- I needed to be needed. But she doesn't need you anymore. She wants you, sure. But you don't want her. You never really did."

His doppelganger finally stepped out from behind the roost, and Peter followed. Now he got a clear look at his future self's face. The scar was hauntingly identical, but this man's expression was warmer, more open than the future fugitive he could have been. His chin and jaw were a little scruffy, but no more than a five o-clock shadow. No bags under his eyes. His shoulders still relaxed and no sign of tension in his movements. No stiffness. No constant looking around in paranoia. He turned his back to the city and put his hands on the concrete wall, pulling himself up to sit on it. "Truth be told, I was kind of glad when my empathy went to hell. It meant I didn't have to constantly worry about hurting other people's feelings when I'm just trying to do my job. Their fear, their pain... Hell even Claire's righteous anger stopped affecting me. But..."

"But you were dead inside."

"Got it in one," his future self confirmed with a nod. "You've been like that for so long that today was one hell of a shock. Especially with that version of empathy."

Peter joined him at the wall, though he leaned forward against it and folded his arms to prop himself up and look out over the city. "I don't get it. You're right, my empathy is broken. But when I took that power from him he said it wasn't like mine used to be. It was more intense than mine ever was. It was like..."

"A thirsting man in a desert. Like I said, dead inside. Nothing. Then suddenly-" He made an explosion sound with his mouth and mimicked an explosion with his hands. "But that ability's always that intense. Every time. Hanging around you is pretty much the only peace he gets right now. Imagine being alone for three years, someone turns up and you're expecting bombardment but instead the silence continues. Just, there's someone else there now. When we came back out, it was like a sledgehammer for him every time he was around people. The night of the Carnival was pretty much torture for him."

"But he goes out all the time now. He never says anything-"

"Because he doesn't want you to worry. Hell, you wouldn't have known if you hadn't taken that power from him. Around us, he doesn't have to keep his guard up. Because the way you are right now you can't read anything off him. And he can't get anything off you."

He stared out over the city, flinching at first when he felt the hand on his shoulder. "It won't be like that forever. Your empathy will never be what it was, but you'll get it back. When you get that back you'll get your real ability back. Your first ability. Or did you just ignore the fact I'm from the future and can still use telekinesis and make water shoot out from my fingertips?" He raised a brow and gave a half smile before giving Peter's shoulder a squeeze and hopping back down off the wall.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, but was stopped by Peter putting his hand on his doppelganger's arm holding him back. He pulled his hand back quickly like it had been burned.

"Yeah... you can't copy powers from yourself. Thought that would have been obvious the last time we met ourselves. He put us in some other guy's body, but we didn't copy it from him. Couldn't."

"Why are you really here though? Would everything have turned out just fine whether you showed up right now or not?"

He shrugged. "Hell if I know, Peter. What I do know is this is exactly what I needed today. Not me as in you, but me from when you're me." He laughed more to himself than anything else. "Hiro was right though. Really put some things in perspective." He shrugged Peter's hand off and turned, still with his hands in his pockets.

"Wait! So this pep talk was for you? You-you, not me-you?"

"Yeah. Seeing how I used to be made me realize I made the right choice."

"What choice am I going to make?"

"I was starting to get cold feet. Getting married tomorrow," he said, changing the subject.

"How far ahead are you from again? Who am I going to-"

He gave his past self another smile and shook his head. "Wait and see, Peter. You've got to do all the work, just like I did." And in the blink of an eye, his future self was gone. The only sign he had even been there was the pigeon roost's better state and Peter's own memory... Giving him more to think about than he'd originally come up to brood over.

**o0o**

When Peter had finally wandered home in the late evening, climbing in from the window left unlocked at the fire escape, he found the apartment he shared with Gabriel dark.

He turned on the light at Gabriel's desk by the windows to find the surface had been cleared of everything. Not even a pen cap had been left out. Searching the rest of the apartment for his roommate, he found the little things he had become accustomed to over the last few months were changed.

One toothbrush in the bathroom. The grooming kit that sat neat and orderly, unobtrusive to the side on the counter was gone. Gabriel's specific shampoo and body wash were also missing from the shelf in the shower. On the bookshelf where Gabriel kept his small, but growing, collection only the books that belonged to Peter had remained. Quickly Peter had opened the cabinet beneath the bookshelf to find Gabriel's clothes missing.

Panic began to set in as he paced back and forth in his living room, trying to piece together what had happened. Where he could possibly have gone. He could have been anyone, anywhere, with his shape-shifting ability.

Just when he'd decided fuck it all and call his mother, confess to her things she probably already knew because the damnable woman always seemed to know anyway, his phone vibrated and rang on Gabriel's desk where he'd left it when he came in. He nearly broke his neck tripping over his - their - furniture to reach it.

He was so quick to answer he hadn't bothered to check who was calling before he spoke. "Gabriel where the hell are you!"

".....Okay..... That answers that question."

"Edgar?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you get this number?"

"Sylar gave it to me. Said he forgot to leave a note and doesn't have a phone."

"I offered to get him one but he keeps saying not to bother. What the hell? Is he with you?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

He heard muffled voice in the background before they sounded a little angry. A sigh. "I don't know what the hell happened between you two, and I don't fucking care. I don't want him here, but technically he's one of us thanks to Samuel so I have to give him a bed for the night."

"Put him on the-"

"I do that, he'll crush my phone. No thanks. I'll make sure he calls you tomorrow."

After forcing himself to eat something, Peter spent the rest of the night trying and failing to get any sleep that night. When his alarm went off the next morning, he threw it across the room and buried his head under a pillow, steadfastly refusing to get up for the day.

He would have remained in bed, stubbornly pretending that the day didn't even exist had it not been for a knock on his door around noon. When he'd opened the door, clearly having just tugged on a shirt over his sweatpants, he was not pleased to see his mother standing there, smiling at him in that way that she does which usually sets him on edge.

"Ma."

"Peter you look terrible."

He looked past the old harpy in his doorway to see Bennet standing behind her. "Noah?"

"Was in the neighborhood," he said. He seemed just as thrilled to be there as Peter was to see his mother.

Peter moved aside to let them pass. His mother commented, almost approvingly, that despite the style being a little of an eyesore at least he'd finally gotten some proper furniture. The place felt lived in now, and she was pleased to see him re-adjusting to life again.

Noah had shrugged, accepted a glass of water that was offered to him since Peter hadn't bothered to get up and make any coffee, and the three of them sat at the dining table.

Peter himself sat in Gabriel's usual chair because his mother had seated herself in his. He slumped back, crossed his arms belligerently across his chest, and waited. His body language making it very clear neither of them were welcome, and that he'd rather be doing anything but entertaining them.

**o0o**

Edgar tossed his phone on his Formica folding table under the window. "There. Don't see why the hell you couldn't talk to him yourself."

"I told you, it's complicated," Gabriel said, wincing as he clenched his hand... even as it shifted shape from his own to another's and back again. "I can't let him see me like this."

"How long has it been going on?" Edgar asked, turning to his fridge and taking out a bottle, then offered Gabriel one. He nodded, and a second one was tossed to him.

The ex-killer twisted off the cap and took a long pull from the brown bottle. The taste was terrible and the alcohol would have no effect on him, but it was rude to let a man drink alone. He sat himself on the arm of a chair as Edgar dropped into one of the two chairs he kept at his table. "Well?"

"I should probably start at the beginning."

Edgar sighed, and in the blink of an eye the table had more bottles sitting atop it. Empty. "Sorry mate, I wasn't drunk enough for this shit yet. I'm good now."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and clenched his fist again, pressing the changing limb against his thigh and winced at the pain the shifting skin caused him as he fought to maintain control of his own body. "Almost a year ago I killed a US senator, Peter's brother. Their mother didn't take it well..."

By the time Gabriel had finished, at least with the important parts of his story, he'd gone through quite a few bottles himself and had relaxed into the other chair at the table.

"Fucking Christ that explains a lot... So what do you think we can do for you?"

"That memory guy with the fun-house, I believe his name was Damian. I need to talk to him. And anyone who knows how Lydia's ability worked. I copied it from her and it's become overwhelming."

"I'd ask if you killed her for it but... I know she was shot by Eli."

"I don't have to kill anymore. I never really did, it was just easier. I didn't know how my ability worked, exactly, at the time. It took someone else stealing it and analyzing it for me to learn the finer points. The killing was just... satisfying to another component of my ability."

"You'll not be killin anyone here."

"I don't do that anymore."

Edgar seemed satisfied by this and gave a nod. After a few moments of thought, he nodded again. "Alright. We've got a guest trailer you can use. Just like last time, you've got to pull your weight. Everybody works so everybody can eat."

"Perfectly reasonable."

"Since one of your powers is sketchy at best and another one's got a taste for brains, you're on manual labor in the mornings after breakfast. Evenings are your own unless we have to pick up stakes and move to another town. Then it's all hands on deck. If you see someone needing some help, lend a hand. You're free to come and go as you please. Just give me a heads up if you're rolling out for good so I know the trailer's free again."

They were more than reasonable terms, considering the last time the two men were in the carnival encampment together Gabriel had been an amnesiac sleeping with Edgar's girlfriend. The man had every right to turn him away, and he'd agree to anything just short of killing anyone for Edgar or the Carnival just to have the chance to stay and get himself sorted out.

He'd been shown to his trailer, and unpacked his bags. There were two. He didn't own much. The bulk of his projects had been near completion, so he'd finished those up and delivered them before packing for his trip. The rest of the scrap and junk he'd simply tidied and put into a box at the bottom of Peter's bedroom closet, knowing it would remain undisturbed in his absence - he'd given no indication that he had ever invaded Peter's privacy before so such an infraction now would never occur to the EMT he shared an apartment with.

As he unpacked his clothes to place them in a single drawer of a three drawer dresser, he bit his lip to hide the pain of his hands changing shape again. "Stop it, Petrelli," he snarled in the light of the single lamp that illuminated the dim living space.

"No. Making you suffer is the only fun I get these days."

"I'm going to be rid of you one way or another."

"You really think that, don't you? In case you haven't noticed you can't just touch my body and send me packing. You're stuck with me forever."

"Then I'll contain you. Find a way to isolate you from my consciousness. Keep you from taking control."

Nathan shook his head, leaning on a battered old card table with his arms crossed over his chest. "You don't get it, do you? Before Matt locked you away I didn't stand a chance against you. Even after you learned Empathy from that Lydia woman. You didn't fight this Hunger you have. It made you stronger than I could ever be. But now? You haven't fed it since you killed me. You're spending all your time and energy fighting it that you've got nothing left to fight me with. It's only a matter of time before you kill someone or I take back control."

Gabriel used all of his willpower to fight his own body and forcing it to remain in his own shape. Forcing it to retain his own form. Fighting to keep it from reverting to the long dead Petrelli brother.

"Either way," Nathan said with a shrug. "No matter which result happens, it keeps you away from my brother."

Sleep was fitful and fraught with nightmares that kept him from getting a good night's sleep. It was the first time he had slept away from Peter's apartment since they had escaped Parkman's prison. And only one in a small handful of nights spent away from Peter himself.

Eventually he had given up on sleep and waited for the morning to come. He'd showered and changed before the morning call to breakfast. Curious faces and hushed whispers followed him. Those who knew him from before, when he had no memories of his own, were surprised to see him. The new ones since Samuel's dethronement didn't understand why so many were keeping their distance.

"If they only knew," Nathan tutted as he trotted along one step behind, out of place walking among the straw and the dirt and the colorful tents in his three piece suit. Gabriel ignored him as best as he could while he ate.

At least the morning chores would give him something else to focus on than the obnoxious ghost that haunted his waking moments.

**o0o**

"Peter, you're going to have to talk to me sometime."

He continued to sit, arms crossed, and stare at anything other than her.

"So uh... Claire says hi."

Peter nodded, showing that he acknowledged Noah's attempt at conversation.

"Peter-"

"Fine," he said at last. "Why are you here?"

"I can't come visit my own son?"

"Nathan, maybe. Me? Never without a motive." He uncrossed his arms, but didn't stop slouching. He turned his stare towards Bennet, then zeroed in on his mother. "You bring Rene when you want to disable someone. You bring Bennet for protection. You thought he'd be here, didn't you?"

"I don't know what to think when it comes to you, Peter."

"Have to admit, Peter. None of us have exactly a good track record with Sylar. Doesn't hurt to take precautions."

Peter nodded. "Well, he hasn't killed anyone since Nathan, if that's what you're here for. He doesn't have to, but he checks in regularly and is starting to reintegrate into society."

"That's good to know. But not why I'm here."

"Figures. Good news was never your thing unless it was for your own benefit."

"Why are you-"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I just don't care anymore. I've got too much of my own mess to deal with before I can even think about trying to clean up your messes again."

"When have I ever asked you to clean up MY messes?"

"Kirby Plaza? Or how about the Shanti virus?"

"Which YOU and Adam nearly unleashed-"

"Which me, Nathan, and Matt destroyed. Or how about dad. Is it dad again? When he took my powers, he also took time travel. Did he pop up somewhere he wasn't supposed to? I still remember Gabriel killing him so whatever it was it didn't crush any butterflies."

"Peter your mother had a dream."

"What else is new."

"You died."

"I've died before. It's not so bad."

"Peter!"

"What? What do you want me to say? Yes, thanks for the warning but it's going to be fine. I'm not going to stay dead which means somehow I either undo it or heal. Or someone else heals me. What do I have to be worried about?"

Bennet glanced back to Angela. She maintained an air of calm, but he knew just as much as Peter did that behind that mask of indifference she was a smoldering volcano of self righteous rage. And a mother in fear. "You didn't heal."

"Ma, thanks for the concern, but I'll be fine."

"Peter this is serious."

"In your dream when I died was I in uniform? Was I at work?"

"No."

"Then I don't see how it matters."

"Peter this is your life we're talking about here," Bennet said.

"I can't bear to lose you, too. Don't make me outlive another son."

Peter sat up straighter. He couldn't meet her eyes now. He drew in a deep breath. Then another. Briefly he thought about what his future self had said. Was this the decision he had to make? Silently he contemplated his options. Let his mother tell him about the dream, about his own death, and do what he could to stop it or at least have a plan in place to make sure he had Claire's power at the time. Or let fate run it's course. Did she dream about an event beyond the point in time his future self had come from - presumably the day before his own wedding? Was the future self the outcome of a timeline where he'd never died? Or was he from one where he did die but survived it? Was that how he got the scar this time around?... That's it... the scar. The scar would tell him everything he needed to know.

"In your dream, did I have a scar?"

"What?" Bennet asked, looking from Peter to Angela again.

She frowned, thinking. She knew the scar he meant. She'd met the other him, the other him that could never be. She'd dreamed about him, and about the version of him that exploded in Kirby Plaza. The Future Hiro from so long ago on the subway had mentioned the scar then as well.

She gave a subtle shake of her head before answering. "No."

"The way I died, would it have given me a scar like that? Was there any damage to my face?"

She shook her head, giving him a suspicious look. "No. Your n-"

"I don't want the details, Ma. I just want to know if anything that happened in your dream could give me a scar," he said, using his finger to draw a line diagonally across his face. He drug his fingertip across the skin, showing her exactly where it was placed. Where she knew it should be placed. Because he always seemed to have it in every future. Somehow, something happened to cause it. A constant feature that, somehow, found a new way to happen each time the future changed.

"No. You had no scar, and there was no damage to your face that could create one."

Peter's entire demeanor changed then before their eyes. Still exhausted, still unwelcoming. No longer openly hostile. "Well, I've got nothing to worry about then."

"Peter-"

"Yesterday was a really weird day for me. I talked to myself. He had, you know," he said, indicating his face.

Bennet sat straighter. "What did he say? Does someone find out about-"

"The future's fine. Life's great. I get married. Don't know who, so that's going to be fun to find out," he said. Then, looking straight at his mother, making direct eye contact and letting his smile fall into a smug smirk. "And Gabriel," he said, knowing both refused to acknowledge his roommate by his given name rather than his serial killer alias. "Still hasn't killed anyone since Nathan."

"How far into the future was he from?" Bennet asked.

"Don't know. I wouldn't tell me. What I can say is that it was more for his benefit than mine. He was getting cold feet about the wedding. Needed a reminder of how far he's come since now."

"Are you sure it was you and not Sylar playing some twisted game?"

"His shape-shifting copies a person as they are when he touches them, or gets their DNA. He'd look like me as I am now. He doesn't have the power of illusion, telepathy or mental manipulation so he can't make me see whatever he wants me to see." He shook his head with a sigh. "It was me. Really me. From my future. Where clearly I haven't died."

"Maybe in the future Sy-"

"For the last time, it wasn't Gabriel. It was myself. And I know this because I can't copy abilities from myself. It explains why I never copied powers from that other me, even though at the time all I had to do was be in the same room as a person. Trust me, I'd rather have teleportation than what I have now."

"What do you have now?"

"Precog," he lied. He hadn't had that ability since the day before. Not since he'd acted on... he still didn't know what the hell he thought he was doing. A punch to the face or throat would have been just as effective as what he'd done. More so in fact. And he'd have been able to avoid the awkward embarrassment of taking the wrong ability when he'd done it, too. This thought swirling in his head, he refocused on the matter at hand. "I've had it since December. About a week or two after the Carnival incident. I can show you the drawings if you want. But they're pretty much just everyday scenes. Nothing all that important," he said, rising from the table before they could respond.

He went to his bedroom, thankful to be out of their presence. He went straight for his closet, digging around and finding a box that wasn't there the last time he'd looked inside. Nudging it with his foot, he heard the faint sound of metal clattering against metal. A quick peek inside, recognizing some of the hunks of metal as left overs from Gabriel's clockworks, he made a note to remind the man when he came home to stay out of his bedroom when he wasn't home. Shoving the box aside, he found what he was looking for. Sort of.

"Where the hell is my old bag?" he muttered to himself when he picked up the pile of papers that he'd been hiding inside it. Looking at the nature of some of the drawings, he quickly sorted through and pulled the ones he deemed too personal before reappearing in his living-room.

His mother smiled politely at him, her expression telling Peter that she and her old friend and loyal right hand had been talking about him in his absence. It didn't matter. He tossed the stack of papers on the table, just out of her reach. But well within Bennet's.

Peter didn't stop long enough to sit, instead going to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. In the meantime, he made a cup of instant from the microwave just so he'd have something to do with his hands as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He watched as the two of them picked through the sketches and drawings he had done when in possession of the precognition ability.

"Some of them already happened. Like the ones with Emma."

His mother nodded. "She looked very lovely in this dress, Peter. How are you getting along?"

"She broke up with me. But the three of us are getting together for our bi-weekly dinner next week." He took a sip of the too-strong bitter coffee. Instant coffee, he'd once told Gabriel, wasn't meant to taste good. It was meant to be a punishment for impatience. He'd agreed, saying that powdered tea amounted to the same. Speaking of... "It's Gabriel's turn to cook," he added just so he could see the grimace on Bennet's face and the tightening of his own mother's jawline.

All Bennet did was hum as Angela picked through the pictures. Sorting them in some fashion Peter could only guess at. So he did. "Things you dreamed and things you didn't?"

"Ones with you and ones without you," she replied. Bennet had made a third pile. "Claire," he'd said simply.

Peter nodded his understanding as he continued to drink and not enjoy his instant coffee. By the time he'd finished it, they had quietly started talking between them about various pictures before Peter reminded them he was there by setting a cup in front of Bennet, with some sugar packets he'd stolen from the hospital cafeteria about a month back.

"So, find anything world changing and earth shattering yet? About half of those with me in them already happened. I suppose I could take the ones with food as a warning for my cholesterol or to chew my food all the way so I don't choke." He gave a humorless laugh as he sat back down in his chair with a fresh cup of real coffee, sweetened with cream rather than sugar. "I know. We're supposed to stop Claire from buying a dog and convince her to get a fish tank instead."

His mother sat back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap as she always had just before lecturing Peter as a child. "Peter, honestly... glimpses and visions into the future happen for a reason. We may not always know or understand the significance of an event until the moment it happens."

"Maybe everything I drew is meant to show us that the danger is over. That we're free to finally live our lives and stop worrying about the future for once. That it's going to turn out fine."

She turned to the stack of pictures she had said were the ones with himself in them. "Peter, go through these and tell me which ones happened."

"Why?"

"Because I dreamed them. You're supposed to be dead. Every single one of them you died. And yet, here you sit. Why?"

"Maybe because I drew them out before they happened, I did things differently."

It was a lie. When they had happened, he let them happen rather than fight them. In many of the moments he'd drawn out, there wouldn't have been time to avoid anything anyway. A subway crash where part of the tunnel had collapsed behind him and Hesam and they had to wait for more help to arrive. Another had been a nasty pile up they'd responded to only because they were caught up in it. Then there was the lunatic down in drug alley going crazy with a knife. He'd acted on instinct then. Reminded of times behind the Wall when he and Gabriel were still fighting, or rather he was still fighting. But Gabriel always gave as good as he got and Peter had learned to dodge a hell of a lot faster than he used to. His sparring with the ex-killer, if it could have been called that, had come in handy that night as he laid the man out using his own momentum rather than standing his ground and blocking the knife like the old him would have probably done.

It helped to constantly be fighting an opponent who was physically larger and stronger than you.

But an idea came to him. Bennet slid the stack to him, and he separated the pictures as she had asked. Most of them had already happened. Others... were kept back in his bedroom closet to be analyzed later with a new perspective and the idea in his head. When he had finished, he offered the stack of past events to Bennet.

"Pick one, any one, and we'll go over how it happened in her dream and what actually happened to me."

"You think there's a problem with my ability?"

"Not at all. I've had your power before, Ma. It can be deadly accurate, but not always. Like Kirby. I kept dreaming about it, and so did you. But in the dream it was daytime. There were cars everywhere. Matt and Claire were both in their uniforms. And Gabriel wasn't there. But when it actually came time to happen Matt and Claire were in their street clothes. It was night, and Gabriel was there for a confrontation with me after he took Ted's ability. Things happened differently than in the dream. But that was the first time."

"First time?"

He nodded. "I had two dreams about Emma and the Carnival. One where she was in the house of mirrors. She was upset, and playing but no one made her do it. After I warned her about Samuel's plan for her, and I smashed her cello, the dream changed to the one you wouldn't tell me about. That one happened exactly as we dreamed it would because I didn't do anything to stop it. I worked to make sure it happened instead. You wanted the first one, but I wanted the second one. You dreamed of Gabriel saving her, but after he was imprisoned by Matt, you dreamed the house of mirrors instead, didn't you?"

She was silent. He gave a nod to Bennet. "Pick one."

The man sorted through the stack, finding one that wasn't just a mundane scene of Peter simply living his life. The one he chose was one Peter remembered very well because his back was sore for days after. The lunatic in drug alley. Bennet held up the picture for both his boss and her son to see. Peter indicated that she should go first.

"You tried to block his attack. He stabbed you in the stomach four times before slashing your throat."

Peter nodded. "When he came at me I grabbed his arm and used his momentum to throw him into the wall behind me. He was disoriented and dropped the knife. My partner kicked it away before helping me wrestle the man to the ground. I kept him pinned until police came while my partner Hesam tended to his victims."

"You?"

Peter shrugged. "I've been attacked so often by your or Nathan's goons. I figured the way they always pinned me down might be effective. You can only have it done to you so many times before you figure out how to do it yourself." He took a big gulp of his coffee. "Next."

They did this for a few more of Peter's drawings. Angela laying out the scene of Peter's death in bloody, gory fashion. Peter telling them things like he'd taken a step to the right instead of the left and had avoided getting crushed in a subway tunnel. Or the fact that they didn't get caught in the pile up because he'd been late from getting back after lunch because he'd been with Emma and they were trying to reschedule their bi-weekly dinner because he'd had reschedule his rehab check with Gabriel. In reality he'd picked up an extra shift instead, but they didn't need to know that detail.

At last, his mother sighed and shook her head. "What is this meant to prove, Peter?"

"That just because you dreamed it and I drew it doesn't mean the future is set in stone. And your dreams can change if other factors change, or sometimes be entirely wrong just because one event is different. You've had some solid hits with your dreams. I won't deny that. I've seen it first hand. But Ma, most of your dreams show you the best outcome for you and your goals if you just let events happen. My Precog drawings showed me the best case scenario in my favor if I do the same."

"Are you saying that I keep dreaming of your death because I want you to die?!"

"No, Ma. I don't think you want me dead," he said, trying to will his voice not to sound too bored with it all. "Noah you get what I'm saying, don't you? You've been on both ends of her dreams. Fighting to stop them or making sure they happen. And Isaac's paintings, too." The Company Man nodded.

"Yeah. I think so. It's not what she wants, but what she could gain from your death that would benefit her."

"Exactly. If I die, there's no one in the way to stop the Company from getting to Gabriel. You told me not to go after revenge, Ma. But I did. And I lost Nathan for good after. But you... you want it so badly that even your subconscious is trying to find any possible way you can get it. At this point, the only reason you won't go after him is because of me."

Bennet looked to Angela, his brow raised. "He's not wrong. Every probability report shows that with Peter in play Sylar is untouchable. Change all the other factors, and it's the same. Remove Peter from the board and even though a lot of people are going to get killed in the crossfire, we'll finally be able to take the son of a bitch down."

"Probability reports?"

"We have a few probability computators. They can read a situation and put together all the variables and predict the outcome with 100 percent accuracy. Our friend Kaito Nakamura trained them himself, since that was his ability," Bennet explained.

"Why am I not surprised you've been having someone run the numbers... So, what else do your probability reports say about me?"

"Only that you're a tough son of a bitch to kill but as long as you're alive, Ahab can't get her white whale."

"Good," Peter said finally. "Let's keep it that way."

"Peter you have to listen to me. If you keep doing what you've been doing, you are going to die. You won't be this lucky forever. He's going to get you killed. Or do it himself."

He shrugged. "That's a risk I'm willing to take, Ma. So, is there anything else? I've got a full day of sleeping to finish since work made me take time off. They think I'm having some kind of psychotic break or something."

After a bit more verbal sparring with his mother, Peter promised to at least call her more than once every three months if it'll just keep her from randomly stopping by with tidings of death and destruction. And yes, he would let her know if he drew or painted anything that would mean the end of the world. Bennet doubted it, but didn't say anything. Once they'd gone, Peter made a bowl of cereal, put in a DVD, and curled up in the chair that pulled out into Gabriel's bed, bored out of his mind and hoping that maybe, just maybe, the movie he'd seen a million times already would put him to sleep.

**o0o**

The morning chores he'd been assigned were easy, but demanding. The others left him alone save for the occasional offer of water or to take over so he could have a break. He'd accept the water, but not and breaks. He moved from one task to another, determined to keep himself busy. To find the right combination of tasks and effort needed to help keep the Hunger in check around so many who had abilities he had yet to claim.

He'd knocked off work in the late afternoon, Nathan dogging his every step. His greasy politician's doublespeak taunting him every moment of the day. The labor helped him to ignore the bastard.

With his evenings his own to do with as he pleased, he found himself looking for anything at all to repair. To keep his hands busy so he didn't have to think of the pain in his joints and the stretching and burning of his skin as it pulled and his bones cracked in an attempt to reshape themselves.

"I'm impressed," Nathan said, sitting in a chair nearby as Gabriel worked on an old early 20th century cash register he'd found in the prop trailer. "No doubt if you didn't have my daughter's healing power you wouldn't be able to fight the shape-shifting so hard."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You really have to ask? Me? Your last victim?"

"It was a rhetorical question."

As quickly as it takes to blink, Nathan had gone from his chair to just the other side of the table, leaning forward and glaring at him. "I like to hear myself talk, remember."

"I'm trying to concentrate."

"I know," Nathan said. "I'm feeling a little hungry. It's been a while since lunch."

"Stop it."

"Never."

"You won't win this."

"Who are you trying to fool, Sylar? This isn't you. It never was. Hiding in the middle of nowhere. Sitting here with your tools fixing something that nobody even uses anymore. Even when you were insignificant you knew you could be so much more. Your mom knew you were special. Hell, you could have been president. Almost we-"

Nathan disappeared only to reappear back in his chair. A screwdriver still shaking as it stuck out of the wall from the unthinking telekinetic command to stab him with it.

"Temper temper," Nathan chided from his chair. "What would Peter think of you trying to kill me a third time?"

"I will kill you a third time," Gabriel replied defiantly. "And as many times as it takes."

"Then we're going to be here for a very long time."

**o0o**

 

_**APRIL** _

 

It had been just over two weeks since he and Gabriel had fought. Since he'd been forced to take a week off work and since his mother had come to try and tell him how he would die. In all that time he'd gotten two updates from Edgar at the Carnival. Both as text messages with a single picture each. One of Gabriel working, and another of him frowning at a table. He'd been told as much as Gabriel would let him know. That he was fine, hadn't hurt anyone (the 'yet' had always been implied without actually having to write it), and that he'd actually been a great help to some of the newcomers who were still struggling with controlling their powers.

Dinner with Emma, which hadn't been a lie to his mother, was coming up fast. He couldn't be alone with her - not if he wanted to keep it platonic. Not if he wanted to keep his head.

So... that's how he ended up in Houlihan's with Hesam sitting to his right and Emma across from him after work.

"I know it's Gabriel's turn to cook but he's... uh..."

"It's okay, Peter," Emma said, reaching across the table to give his wrist a reassuring touch before he could take a drink. "Besides, sometimes it's nice to just let someone else do all the cooking for us for a change."

Hesam nodded. "Hey, I'm just glad to see you rested man. Even at your worst you're still better than half the guys they paired me with. Do me a favor, okay."

"What's that?"

"Take better care of yourself so I don't get a week on rookie detail again."

Emma smiled as Peter laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in months. It was a sound Emma hadn't heard in a long time, and one Hesam didn't think he'd ever heard out of the man.

By the end of the evening the three of them were trading humorous horror stories from work back at Emma's apartment. Peter had given up trying to sign hours before, having found that he couldn't remember what meant what. Hesam had fallen asleep in a large comfortable chair, and Emma offered her sofa to Peter.

He turned her down, asking instead for some coffee to sober him enough to get home.

That's how they came to be sitting on her sofa, each with a warm cup in hand and facing one another so that she could read his slightly slurring lips, talking quietly.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said. "But I think I'm over you."

Emma smiled softly, sipping her coffee.

Peter continued. "I mean, I still care about you. We were dating. We both have powers." Emma glanced at the sleeping EMT in her chair, making sure he was still asleep as Peter kept talking. "And you are so gorgeous. Any man would be lucky to date you. And I was so lucky."

"But your feelings changed," she said, reaching out to Peter and putting a hand on his thigh, giving it a friendly pat. "I knew. Maybe not right away, but after I made dinner for you and Gabriel, I could tell."

"We're not like that," Peter said defensively. "God no, it's not like that."

Emma's smile never faded. "But you want it to be. Peter, I'm deaf, not blind." She gave a little laugh. "I think the both of you are, though." He sipped his coffee, narrowing his eyes at her in question.

"Oh Peter... what would you ever do without me? You're in love with Gabriel and he's madly in love with you, too. But you're both too stubborn to say anything."

"I don't-"

She smiled knowingly. "My ability," she said, setting her coffee aside and using her hands to help her explain, hoping he wasn't too drunk to at least read her sign language. But she made sure to speak as clear as she could for him just in case. "The colors. The more I work with it, the more I've learned to read what they mean. The colors are like... like tones. Like music notes. Sometimes you can put them together to make loud, angry sounds. And sometimes you can put them together to make soft, gentle ones."

"Okay, I'm with you."

She gestured between them. "If I focus, I can see the colors of our words. You speak to me, and your words are soft, gentle sounds. Kind. Caring. Warm. But just saying his name, it comes out bright and hot. Like fire. But it's not angry. When you talk to each other there's so much red and violet and green. There's so much you don't say to each other, but if you could see what I see... It's so..." she signed the word beautiful, unable to form her mouth around the word.

Peter stared at her hands, then her face.

"I wish you could see what I see," she said as she signed. Peter gave her a weak smile.

"I'd like that, too." He set down his coffee and took her hands in his, knowing he was about to give up flight for who knew how long until he saw his roommate again. With a sigh, he reached out with his ability, feeling the tingle in his hands before it pulled back and he could feel a brief stinging behind his eyes as his vision adjusted.

"Tickles," she said, looking down at their hands before pulling hers away and letting Peter's fall to the cushion between them.

Peter looked at his sleeping partner and couldn't help but chuckle at the short bursts of color coming from the man's nose and mouth. "Does his snores really look like that?"

Emma giggled with a nod. "Yours do, too."

**o0o**

He had been working with Damian off and on for two weeks in the evenings. First with breathing exercises and meditation that initially he had been resistant to. They had moved on to more intensive memory strengthening techniques.

After Damian had looked into his mind, displaying the fractured memories of his own that had become interlaced with those belonging to Nathan Petrelli, Damian had decided the work was going to take longer than he'd thought.

The memory manipulator had never had to try and remove part of a mind before. And even his most recent attempt to erase a man's memory, the teleporter Samuel had tried to bring into the family, had been a spectacular failure.

"You're doing well, Gabriel," Damian said. "Are you still seeing him?"

"Not... all the time."

"And your shape-shifting?"

"Only when I do see him now."

"Good," the man said. "I think we may be ready to move on to the next step."

"Getting rid of the bastard?"

"No. I may not be able to do that. But if we work together we may be able to seal him away similar to what was done to you."

"I need a permanent solution!"

Damian shook his head. "The man who did this to you used a bulldozer when he should have used a scalpel. There is too much damage to repair first. I am doing the best that I can but that man in your head is stubborn. And he is too enmeshed in your own psyche. I have had my ability for forty years, but I have never seen a man's mind more broken than yours. If i had been allowed to work on your mind as I had wished before, removed the false identity before it tangled itself with your own then maybe I could do as you want. Isolation, I feel, is the only recourse we have."

Gabriel slumped in the chair and sighed before leaning forward to rest his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He would do anything to be rid of Nathan once and for all. Perhaps, he thought, Damian was right. He wouldn't be able to remove him. But locking him away, alone in a nightmare of his own making, a place where Gabriel alone had the key in or out that might buy him some time to find a better solution. Or even find someone stronger than Parkman to undo the damage done to him by shoving Nathan's mind inside.

He sat up and stared at the reflection directly in front of him, at the man standing behind him. "Alright," he said at last. "What's the next step."

"You must turn into this other man, and I must get into HIS mind."

"No."

"How can you chain a tiger if you cannot first catch it?"

"He will have full control over all of my powers. He can and will kill you."

"Not," he said. "With my friend here."

Gabriel stood, spinning around the moment he saw the Haitian appear in the mirrors. "You keep him away from me. I'm NOT going back to those cells. I'll kill you first."

The Haitian shook his head and made sure his hands could both be seen. "Peter would not want that. I am here only to help you."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Rene is my nephew. I asked him to come."

"You've seen into my head. You know what this bastard's done to me!"

"I only want what is best for Peter," the Haitian said simply. "You it seems are what is best for him."

"Why? If you help me you're going against the Company. You're going against everything and everyone. If Angela Petrelli ever found out-"

"You have done terrible things. Evil things. But you are not as I once believe you to be. You are not an evil man in your heart. We made you what you are and before I the day comes when I must face my maker, I must atone for the wrongs I have done on God's Earth. As must you."

"You can't go back after this. Even if you change their memories, this is the line. I'm the hill you die on."

The Haitian nodded. "I promised Peter's godfather before he died that I would do whatever I must to keep him safe. It is why I took his memories and sent him to Ireland instead of back to Level 5. Why I helped him try to kill Arthur."

"Why you let him have your ability to torture me."

"Yes. It was what Peter needed. It was the only way to ensure you would not overpower and kill him. I was saving his life. Potentially at the cost of your own."

Gabriel nodded. "A lesser of two evils. And if he did kill me then I'm not a threat any longer and everyone has their revenge for Nathan. That's actually a good plan. If he hadn't stopped to try making a deal with me while he had the nail gun, it could have worked." He made a small humming noise. "I'm actually impressed. Either way Peter got what he needed or wanted and survived to talk about it. So you what? Just intervene when convenient and let things just play out however they're going to?"

The Haitian nodded. "It can be messy, but effective. And now, in order to keep him safe, he needs you. His mother has been dreaming of his death. But each instance is curious. Intervention by you, in some small way, changes the events. I do not know how, but I do know that the longer you are away, the more danger Peter is in."

"He needs me more than I need him..." The revelation of this made him smile. Made his heart race and filled him with that same sense of hope he'd had flooding through him when he and Peter saw the first chunks of brick crumble away from the wall. He could see him from the corner of his eye. Angry. Spiteful. His perfect politician smile curled into a snarl of rage that certain memories told him had once been thrown Peter's direction when the younger Petrelli had defied him time and again. "What are we waiting for, gentlemen," he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Let's catch a tiger."

**o0o**

Week three since Gabriel had left was drawing to a close. Peter had spent his free time studying Emma's ability closer. Learning the nuances of the colors and comparing them to the tones of voices. He spent much of his time people watching and making notes. He tuned the radio to a classical music station and using color alone tried to determine the emotions it tried to convey.

It was fascinating watching people argue in the park. Or couples speaking quietly on the bus. Splashes of red and pink and pale green amidst a cacophony of angry orange and loud yellows and near blinding neon blues.

He'd spent some of his breaks at the hospital with Emma in the records room, quietly discussing what he'd learned and comparing notes on her ability.

Now, though, he sat in the floor of his bedroom, Gabriel's box of parts shoved aside as he cleaned out his closet. The humor was not lost on him as he sorted through his wardrobe. Anything too small went into a bin. Anything too large was set aside for Gabriel to choose from when he came back. And he would come back. Peter had to believe it.

He'd made his decision over coffee at his table. Sorting through drawings of a future come to pass and a future yet to be made. He knew he wasn't meant to know about the probability manipulators. He was never meant to know of their reports and projections. There had to be a reason Bennet would let hat slip in front of him. Speak of a closely guarded Company secret so openly in front of him. Was his mother trying to get him killed? Was it Bennet's way of trying to make amends for his part in Gabriel's identity erasure and Nathan's forced resurrection? Or was it a subtle hint that he need not die but just stay out of their way as they enacted whatever plan his mother cooked up to get her own revenge since Peter had, once again, failed her?

He'd finished with his wardrobe and had pulled out boxes of keepsakes he could never throw away after he'd stripped his apartment of his worldly possessions. A few small boxes of pictures from his childhood, school days, college. A life that he never imagined would become so estranged from him. Finding a stack of pictures with Nathan, he closed the picture boxes and set them aside. He couldn't deal with that today.

But soon, he'd find the time. He'd be able to look at them without being filled with anger at himself. At his brother. Their mother; their father. He didn't want them. Not the photos of his family. Maybe Claire might... he'd have to ask her next time they spoke.

She might want the ones of Nathan at least.

By the time he'd finished with the closet it was only half full. Stacks of old clothes piled on one side of his bed while bins overflowed with the ones he was getting rid of. A box of old awards he didn't know what else to do with were shoved to the back and hidden by his few nice suits that still fit.

Shoes were lined up on one side, the other half of the closet left empty. The vacant half was populated solely by the box of scraps Gabriel had hidden away.

He stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the result of his arduous task with a smile and a nod. "I just hope Emma's right."

"Who's Emma and what is she right about?"

"Who?!" Peter exclaimed, jumping back from his closet and looking around. His first guess was to look out his windows, then straight to the living-room. He didn't have much in the way of abilities, but maybe if he channeled enough anger through his voice, like Emma had said she'd done by accident resulting in the large crack in her apartment wall, then maybe-

"Hey! Hey!" the voice called from his bedroom. He followed it, seeing the neon blue sparks of light mixed with fluorescent green and a cheerful golden yellow of excitement. "Hey! Yeah! Sorry if I scared you!"

Peter picked up his phone and thought quickly, but before he could ask the voice answered back. "Are you Peter? Peter Petrelli?"

"Who's asking?"

"You're the copycat guy right? I think I saw you once. New York, exploding guy, right? This guy Linderman had me rig your brother's election. It was a really long story."

"You mean he didn't even-"

The voice chattered excitedly. "Hell no. He barely got twenty percent of the vote before I changed everyone's votes to make it a landslide. Anyway, hi, I'm Rebel. We've never really been formally introduced. Normally I don't actually talk with my contacts. Text messages only. Keeps my identity safe, that kind of thing."

"You sound like a kid."

"I am a kid. But hey, even the smallest of people can make a difference. You're welcome by the way. For the whole Claire thing last December. I never expected to ever be contacted by you of all people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well... you were one of the people about to expose us all until your brother was shot so... there's that. And he tried to round us all up so uh... And my aunt kind of works for the Company, sometimes, as a personal favor. Yeah you're not exactly a popular person among the rest of the Specials out here man."

Peter set his phone down on his nightstand and sat down, raking a hand through his hair. "Yeah, not surprised. So what's this about?"

"I need you to pass a message along to Sylar. I came up with the perfect way to pay him back. He's not on the FBI watch-list anymore. His case has been erased. And so has his fingerprints from that time in Baltimore. No warrants, no trace of him in any database except some basic ID from his life before. But make sure he knows that if he messes up, I'll put it all back."

"Why would you do that? What did he do that you need to pay him back?"

There was silence on the line. And for a moment Peter thought the boy had disconnected from him. Then he heard it. A long sigh. The long sigh of a child who's had to grow up too fast and deal with far too much. "He saved my life, and let me stay with him for a few hours to get some sleep and let the heat die down. He turned into me and convinced Danko and his agents that they'd killed a kid and killed the Rebellion with me. I had to go underground again after that." There was another pause. "I figured a life for a life. He saved mine, and I can give him back his."

"Why can't you tell him yourself?"

"I would if I could find him. He doesn't have a phone. He's nowhere near any CCTV. The last place I have him pinging is near your phone. Thankfully you haven't changed your number since December. Who gave you my text code anyway?"

"Gabriel did. Told me before we ever got back to my place to text you and tell you to cover it up."

"Good man," was the boy's response. "Don't lose that code, okay. I'm no fan of the Company or any other group out there. I just want to help our kind when and where I can. Keep us all safe. You understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. But I'm not getting involved anymore. I just want to live my life."

"You don't have to. Just keep the code. Give it to anyone you think might need help to disappear."

He had to admit having someone who wanted nothing in return, only to genuinely help others like themselves, on his side was valuable. "Hey, lemme ask you something."

"Okay."

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing? Helping Gabriel? You're an outsider looking in on everything that's happened over the last year. Do you really think, based on everything you've seen and heard, and after meeting him, that this change of heart he's had is permanent?"

"I think... I think he just needs motivation. From what his Primatech files said he just needs someone to believe in him. They said he responds to positive reinforcement, but really I think he just needed a friend other than his crazy mom. If he'd had that then maybe he wouldn't have started killing people. I guess since he didn't really have anyone he didn't have anything important to fight for. Now? I think he's trying. Maybe being your friend is helping him. From what I could see of him before he went off the grid he seems to be doing really well. If he keeps it up, he could turn into one of the most powerful, and best, heroes we have in the world."

Listening to Rebel's assessment Peter couldn't help but be reminded of another boy, much younger, from a future he, Gabriel, and Rene had erased together just over a year ago. That version of Gabriel making waffles in the kitchen of what was the Bennet house in Costa Verde had something worth fighting for. He fought his hunger for the sake of his son. A fact that the darker version of his future self must have known before sending him to the man.

He drew a deep breath and nodded to himself. "Thanks, kid," he said, rising to his feet and returning to his closet. He took a shoe box down from the shelf above and went back to his bed. "If you need me for anything, just text okay? Or at least make it a normal phone call, okay. I can't have you suddenly shouting for my attention from my back pocket when I'm at work."

"Sure. And make sure to pass my message to Sylar when he gets home. And my text code in case you meet anyone like us."

He opened the shoe box as the call was disconnected for good. Inside were drawings and pictures he'd pulled from the stack that had been shown to Angela and Bennet. Some had already taken place. Emma and Gabriel's smiling faces staring up at him from Emma's kitchen as the two of them had been sort-of arguing over which version of a recipe to follow, and which wine went best with roast duck, even though they were having ratatouille that night.

Another of Gabriel sitting hunched over his desk, working on the crank mechanism of a music box. One hasty sketch was of the two of them fighting, but he'd never been able to finish it before the call came through on the radio in the ambulance and he and Hesam had to rush to the scene of a bank robbery gone wrong. Staring down at it now, he could easily see where the scene had been going, recognizing the placement of a table and a sofa easily. The day he'd been ranting and raving about Emma. Gabriel had used his telekinesis to pin him down and shut him up.

It had made him angrier.

Gabriel had lectured him, giving him some hard truths he still had refused to accept and swallow.

In retrospect, Peter should have expected the outcome. Looking over the drawings, and thinking about what Emma had said of them both not noticing one another's body language, it was a long time coming. And he'd gone and ruined it with awkward anger and fleeing from his own living-room.

He didn't understand it then, but he understood it perfectly clear now.

He picked up one more picture and stared at it a long while. It seemed posed as if for a photograph. Special detail was given to this one, as it had colors while most others did not. "Who are you?" he asked quietly of the figure in the center, a teenage boy in a dark blue suit. Peter and Gabriel were standing on either side of the boy and smiled happily. He traced the scar on his own face with a finger, reminded that it took place in a time he couldn't be sure of. That it was a time and a place his future self would not spoil for him. The Gabriel in the picture had a hand on the boy's shoulder. Comfortable. Casual.

Peter was pulled from his thoughts by his phone once again. This time with a text alert. Upon opening the message, he was greeted with Edgar's customary greeting of "Body Count still at 0." As he read through the progress report, still sparsely detailed as the others, he could feel his face smiling so much it physically hurt. Gabriel had sorted out whatever his problem was, and would be returning to New York at the end of the month.

Peter looked up his calendar on his phone. One more week. He just had to endure one more week of boredom and an empty apartment.

That night he'd had the first truly good night's sleep since meeting his future self on the top of the Deveaux building back in March.

**o0o**

"You get your damn hands off me!"

"You do not belong here."

"Like hell I do!"

It had been easy enough to trick the dead man into appearing the first time. But after that they had to provoke him in various ways to get him to appear. It finally took Gabriel's sheer will to drag him to the forefront of his psyche in the house of mirrors. Though he was fighting the Hunger, he was still the stronger of the two. And though he would never fully trust the Company Man that prevented his parasitic dead man from using his other abilities, the man had given him the best of motivations to keep fighting.

Nathan fought against the chains and the ropes holding him to the chair in the center of the mirrored chamber even as Gabriel fought to keep the man from changing back into the reformed killer and hiding himself away.

It took days of work, and once they had finally managed to separate the last of Nathan's memories from Gabriel's, the final arduous task had to be undertaken. Forcing Gabriel's body to change back into himself, and push Nathan the rest of the way behind the mental barrier Damian had helped to create to contain him.

But it had to be done carefully and coordinated with Gabriel seizing control at the right moment.

"Do it! Do it now!" Gabriel's voice burst from Nathan's mouth. The Haitian came closer, sensing the only ability he had not yet blocked in the man and putting his full attention to it. Nathan fought hard against the forced change as the shape-shifting ability was negated. A single voice box changing and morphing to accommodate the screams of two distinctly different voices. Agony and despair wove and danced with victory and righteous rage until at last, only one voice remained. One face. One skin.

He slumped forward as far as his bonds would allow when Damian's hand lifted from his head. "He must rest," Damian said calmly. "Tomorrow, we will come back and we will check the strength of his cage."

Rene reached into his pocket, then placed a handkerchief into the hand of the memory manipulator. "Your nose," he said. Damian took the handkerchief and dabbed at his face, wiping the blood away.

**o0o**

Edgar slapped him on the back at supper the following day with a grin. "So, how's your G-man problem doing mate?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I can still feel him in there but it's different. I feel lighter, if that makes any sense. I don't have to focus so hard on maintaining my own shape. I can think again."

"It's a funny thing, in'nit? Being left alone to do as you please." In a flash, Edgar was sitting across from him with a plate of his own. Be broke a roll in half and dipped it into a bit of gravy. "I tell you, the lot around here were more than happy to see the backside of Samuel. And Eli, too. I didn't like doin' his dirty work for him after he killed Joseph. But with the power he had, not even I was fast enough to move out of the way of a speeding rock."

Gabriel nodded his understanding. "He only had the power others gave him."

"A lot like yourself," Edgar replied. "Though most didn't exactly hand it over willingly. As for us, we didn't really know that he got his power that way, from being around others like us."

Silence fell between them as others came and went. "As soon as Damian says you're ready, I want you gone," Edgar said at last when both men had finished their meals. "It's not that I don't like you. But I don't like you."

"The feeling is mutual."

They shared an uneasy laugh before Edgar moved on to tend his duties before his act that night, leaving Gabriel to help clear up after supper. A task he'd done off and on since his second day. Not having an act in the sideshow, he didn't mind and the work had at the time been a welcome distraction. Now it was simply another task to keep him busy. Something by which to gauge the difference between before he sought help with this particular problem and after having it dealt with.

His focus was sharper and his senses much keener than they had been in months. It was as if a fog had been lifted and he was again his old self. Powerful and in complete control of his faculties.

Sitting alone in his trailer, the curtains pulled back so he could watch the lights of the carnival shine in the night, he hungered. Oh how he Hungered. And yet the desire to maim, to kill, to feel the blood on his hands as he bore down on them as his ability sunk it's teeth - his fingers - into the cranial cavity and pick apart their brains to find exactly how they tick...

None of it felt satisfying. The thought of it seemed almost... disappointing. There was no challenge. No sport in it. Like fish in a barrel.

He had been afraid, before, of losing control of his power and allowing it to drive him again. But he had made a promise. To the only one in this twisted, bizarre world who had never betrayed him. Killed him on occasion, yes. But the rare instances their paths crossed not in battle and blood but in common cause, only Peter remained unwavering in his words and deeds. When all others sought obedience, Peter had only asked for cooperation. When others treated him like a monster, like an object to be owned and a weapon wielded, Peter considered him an equal of sorts. A gauge by which he judged his own strength, ultimately making himself stronger and more capable.

And yet now, the idea of a hunt held no thrill for him.

The sense that told him there were many powers, many abilities being used all around him - the Hunger did not seek them. It was perfectly content to leave them be. To sit in its shackles and its chains and wait. He need not kill any longer to take what he wanted. There were... other ways. Better ways...

As quickly as the thought had come he banished it away again for later. So instead he focused on the guidelines Damian had set down for him to maintain the progress and keep his unwanted parasite contained.

Actively avoiding using his flight ability would be inconvenient, but not troublesome. Before gaining it he had always used a very focused application of his telekinesis to augment his speed, climbing, and jumping capabilities. With unbroken focus he could simulate quick flight at low altitudes if he chose, but nowhere near the supersonic speeds the true flight ability had been capable of. Shape-shifting was another matter. He relied on it heavily to get around the city when he wasn't with Peter. It kept the Company agents and the Feds off his back, and allowed him to slip in and out of Peter's apartment building without anyone who might pry discovering the reality of their living arrangements.

A few other tasks he'd been given to help keep himself from picking apart the cage and tearing down the barriers. Such as if he did have to shape-shift, avoiding anything that resembled Nathan - as doing so may weaken the work done. Memories that included both him and Nathan, such as Nathan's actual murder, were left in place as it had been impossible to discern to whom they truly belonged, however they were now fuzzier than they had been. Deliberately half-remembered to avoid triggering a domino effect.

While he wasn't entirely pleased with the end result of Damian's mental manipulating and the Haitian’s aid in repressing Nathan as well as glossing over the remaining shared memories, he was grateful for what he had been given. Grateful that anyone would be willing to take the time to help him treat at least the symptoms of his current state of madness after everything he had done in such a short amount of time.

When sleep came upon him in the night, lulled to slumber by the sounds of the carnival beginning to wind down and his temporary neighbors celebrating another good night of wonder and spectacle, Gabriel had the best night of sleep he'd had since Chandra Suresh first walked through his storefront's door.

**o0o**

"You didn't have to do this," Peter said, signing some of the words. "I don't even know when he'll be getting here."

Emma had laughed. "No, but I wanted to. He's my friend, too. And it's important for him to know that we care."

Peter gestured to the streamers and the small cake she had made. Hanging awkwardly among the streamers was a multi-colored "Welcome Back Gabriel" banner she had made and strung up moments after she had arrived that morning with Hesam behind her, his arms laden with brown shopping bags.

Hesam, thankfully, had been able to beg off further involvement by being late for work. Peter already had the day off, and Emma was taking a sick day. He hadn't wanted to make a big fuss when he'd let her know the day before that he'd gotten a message that his roommate was heading back. In the time he had been away, she hadn't pressed for details, and though he had told Hesam that Gabriel had a relapse and was back in rehab for an undisclosed for personal reasons purpose, the colors of his words had betrayed him.

She'd figured out rather quickly it had to do with his amazing abilities. How, or why, she could only guess. But knew better than to discuss those matters around Peter's partner.

The sun had nearly finished setting when the pair of exes were distracted from the movie they'd started to watch while the hot lunch Emma had made for them sat still in the slow cooker she'd brought, keeping warm all this time. Peter had noticed it first, the quiet click of the apartment door unlocking, followed by the two solid thuds in the open doorway. He had turned to Emma, who sat on the sofa with her back to the door and signed to her to look behind.

"Emma? Peter?" Gabriel said in slight confusion, stepping forward with his bags sliding behind him. He reached back to shut the door absently before stepping into the room properly. "What is all this?"

Emma stood and turned, clapping her hands and rushing around from the front of the sofa. "Surprise!" she shouted as Peter shuffled up beside her.

"It was all her idea."

"How did you know I was-"

"Edgar told me yesterday. Honestly it's the best news I've had all week."

Unsure exactly how to proceed, Gabriel just sort of nodded and reached out with the Empathy ability to get a read on the situation. Sincere joy and happiness exuded from the deaf blonde very clearly while Peter... nervousness with an undertone of ambivalence. The fact he could pull anything off Peter that was not an extreme emotion was odd in and of itself, and would require further dissection once he had resettled into his routines.

In response, he softened his expression and began thanking Emma for her surprise before offering his hand to her. She pushed it away and pulled him into a tight, but friendly hug. When she let go of him and held him at arm's length, she was still smiling.

"Welcome back," she said as she let go of him. "I hope you're hungry because you missed out on our first bi-weekly dinner and I'm taking a sick day so you don't miss another one this month."

Before he could respond she had already turned her back and gone into the kitchen. Gabriel turned around to pick up his bags, but Peter had already maneuvered around to grab one.

"She's a very strange woman," he commented as he picked up the other bag before Peter could take it. It was the one he'd stolen from the man's bedroom closet. He wasn't about to bring it up unless Peter did first. Instead, he gave a nod past Peter, towards his cabinet where he kept his clothes.

"I didn't know if you'd moved out before I got home or what had happened until Edgar called."

"Sorry about that. It won't happen again. I was distracted."

"It was a weird day for both of us," Peter said, heading towards not the desk, but his own bedroom.

"Peter?"

"Just until Emma leaves. She brought wine and the less she and I have to drunkenly trip over the better. Come on." When he reached the French doors he went right in and set the bag he carried on his bed, giving a nod to Gabriel to do the same as Emma called from the kitchen.

"Peter! Table!"

He sighed, rolling his eyes as they heard the cork pop from across the apartment. Peter nudged him when he passed him on his way back out, and stopped for just a moment. "Welcome home, man."

"You mean that?"

"You're the one with lie detection," Peter said. "You tell me."

Gabriel had gotten over the initial surprise that not only did he have a friend outside of Peter (he had never actually counted Emma beyond the obligatory fact that she was dating Peter, and was a friend of Peter's), but one that would go to all the trouble of being happy to see him. Having had no frame of reference from his life before abilities, he did not quite know how to handle such a situation. Once he had worked past it, and quickly, he had been able to settle into the comfortable routine of the three of them enjoying dinner and one another's company.

He found himself to be far more relaxed around Emma now than he had been before. And the guarded edge to Peter's behavior that had been present after the woman had broken up with him was long gone. Though nervous, and still with a thread of ambivalence undercutting his every emotion throughout the evening, Peter was actually in good spirits.

The three of them had a the most relaxed evening together yet before Emma had begged off for an earlier than usual night with the excuse that having skipped today she'd have a mountain of work the next morning. Her not-so-subtle drunken winks to Peter didn't go unnoticed by the only sober person in the room.

After walking the woman out and insisting she get a cab, Gabriel returned to the apartment to find Peter sitting in the chair that pulled out into his own bed, pouring the last of the evening's wine into his glass. He would have let the bottle fall to the floor beside him had Gabriel not stretched out his hand to silently move it to the coffee table where two other empty glasses sat.

"You drink entirely too much for your own good."

"Never got used to not not getting drunk again," he said.

"You can copy it if you like, to sober up."

"No!" he shouted quickly, drank down half his glass and set it down, sloshing a bit. "No. Because I can't do this sober right now."

"Do... what sober right now?"

"That thing. When we and then I and it was weird and then I left."

Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. "Peter-"

"Say that again."

"What?"

"My name. Say it again, just like that."

"Why?"

"Because it's so... so... you know."

He reached down and grabbed Peter by the arm.

"No no no no! Listen!-"

"You're drunk. You'll probably have a hangover in the morning. Again. You're such a damn lightweight these days."

"If I was sober I'd be too stupid to talk about it."

"Embarrassed?"

"That. Yeah," he slurred as Gabriel pulled him to his feet and slung one of Peter's arms over his shoulder, putting one of his own on the man's thinner waist to keep him steady enough to put to bed.

"Why don't you just flick your finger or whatever. Float me over."

"Because right now I don't think I could focus enough to keep from throwing you into a wall."

He ignored the rest of Peter's inane drunken rambling as he maneuvered the man around to put him into his bed. "Good night Peter."

"Did you know words have colors?" he said to Gabriel's retreating back. "The way they sound can change their colors. Did you know that?"

"Yes, Emma's ability is fascinating," Gabriel said from the doorway, waving behind him to shut the bedside lamp off. "Goodnight Peter!"

**o0o**

 

_**MAY** _

__

Gabriel had been home for two weeks before Peter had another day off.

Home.

It was still hard to believe that after all that he had done, all that he had lost, the man still insisted for two solid weeks since his return from the Carnival that it wasn't Peter's home. It was THEIR home. Together.

The point had been underlined for him when Peter kept moving Gabriel's clothes into his own closet in the bedroom. Repeatedly.

In all that time, the EMT had not attempted to borrow any of his abilities, nor did he pry (much) into why Gabriel had gone and what he had done while away. Though the curiosity was eating away at him.

It never would have come up had Gabriel not woken him that morning screaming from his pull-out bed. Dodging out of the way of a wayward book thrown by telekinesis Peter had managed to get to him, drawing his attention and his focus to himself as he'd done off and on during their long nightmare together.

"Gabriel! Gabriel look at me!"

Chocolate brown eyes zeroed right in on his face. Searching it for something Peter could not fathom before he was crushed into a tight hug, a hand digging into the hair at the back of his head. Feeling around the base of his skull before finally the hold was relaxed and Peter was able to pull away.

"Are you okay?"

"I thought... I... You were..."

Peter put his own hand to the back of his head, fingers following where the ghosting of Gabriel's searching digits had been feeling around. Realization dawned on him. "Mohinder's apartment?"

Gabriel took a deep, steadying breath as he looked away and moved his legs, causing Peter to stand briefly only to sit down on the pull-out again. One hand rested in his lap, the other reached out to touch Gabriel's arm in reassurance. "It didn't take."

"It was overlapping with something else..."

Peter's grip tightened just for a second, but it was enough that it was noticed.

"I'm sorry... I thought I fixed this. I knew there would be residual traces... shared ones but not an overlap of a single event. I didn't think how interconnected our two paths have always seemed to be." He stood, leaving a confused Peter sitting on his bed. "I need to see Rene. He should be back in town by now."

"The Haitian? What the hell do you want to see him for?"

"I need a tune up. We didn't get all of them rounded up-"

"All of what-"

"Nathan," he said as he went to his desk, searching his drawers for something. "It's why I left."

"I thought it was the empathy thing-"

"That's part of it. Surrounded by so many people after so long alone it was overwhelming. I had trouble adjusting. I needed to speak with people who knew the woman I got it from. Find out things she did to cope with the never ending onslaught of emotions and feelings and just.... Look, I don't want-"

"What the hell does my dead brother have to do with it?! I was a stupid, selfish prick using you to unload my problems on, and when you tried to talk some sense into me, I freaked the fuck out, okay! I didn't want to listen to what you had to say, and it turns out you were right! About everything!" Peter had risen and half crossed the room before stopping himself. "We need to talk about this."

"Peter, I can't right now," he replied, leaning against his desk with his hands flat against the surface. His own fear that maybe his willpower wasn't so strong after all, that the walls built inside his mind were crumbling and he could do nothing to stop it. That these last two weeks were just a temporary stay of execution before it was all stolen back from him again. "You don't understand."

"Because you won't tell me!"

"Because I don't know where the fuck you're hiding a nail gun!"

"You really think I'd-"

"If you knew the hell I've been putting myself through fighting two battles I can't win in my own fucking head then yeah, you'd probably drive one right in my fucking kill-spot!" Gabriel shouted back at him, turning to face his roommate and finding him angrier than ever.

Hands clenched at his sides; posture perfectly still and his muscles so tense he could bounce a quarter off that jaw.

"Peter, I-"

The tight coil sprung. He felt the familiar punch to his face seconds before those same angry hands grabbed the sides of his dazed head and yanked it down. A few precious seconds of curiosity filled him before he pushed Peter back, holding him away just beyond reach with his power.

"And if I had Hiro's power, I'd do it again. Over and over until you get it through your stubborn, thick fucking skull."

"No."

"Yes."

"And I said no."

"But the colors coming out of your mouth say yes."

"You have a death wish, don't you?"

"I did throw us from a roof without knowing I would heal after. I'd say that's pretty obvious."

"You're just reckless."

"I don't hear you saying no anymore."

"I don't like to repeat myself."

"Seem to be doing a lot of it right now."

"If I told you everything, will you stop this?"

"No."

"Will it make any difference at all?"

"Probably not."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

With those two words he could feel the remainder of his own self restraint failing. The nightmare of blended memories - his second killing of Peter overlapping with the elder Petrelli's grief at his brother's murder by way of a wedge of glass to the back of the head - forgotten as he felt the familiar urge for blood and flesh and bone rising inside him. Free from it's shackles and its chains, the Hunger roared to life seeking no hunt. Only to devour the willing prey offering itself up willingly.

Gabriel released his invisible hold on Peter and the distance between them was closed quickly. Between bites and fingers digging hard into pale flesh, he growled against Peter's lips. "Take regen."

A moment of confusion before Gabriel's hold on his arm tightened painfully, fingernails cutting into skin. "Take regen," he ordered a second time. "I don't want to fuck a corpse."

Seconds later he felt it. The tingle he had not realized he had missed so desperately. The warmth that flooded into him as it sought out what it needed. What it wanted most. Peter moaned against his mouth as for a split second they felt the jolt as his ability toyed with electrokinesis. The full body flush of empathy already enhanced to it's full potential by erotic touch, causing Peter to grind against him for the split second he had access to it. Then they felt it. The odd sensation of itching - stitching and stretching - healing.

Peter let it settle in him before pulling his ability back, allowing it to lap at the beast unchained for only a second, causing him to shudder just before he felt his back slamming into the nearest wall - the one shared with the kitchen.

Somehow, hours later, they lay in an exhausted and sweaty heap on a tilted sofa, the legs on one end having broken off entirely when Peter had been a little too enthusiastic with telekinesis and how to best put it to use in a manner he'd never attempted before. Or will ever attempt again.

"I didn't realize you were such a kinky bastard. An anger fetish? Really Peter?" A hand reached up to brush the sweat-plastered hair from Peter's face. "Again, you have a death wish."

"You couldn't kill me if you wanted to."

"I can, and I have."

"Yeah, but at least one of those times could actually be considered murder-suicide."

"One, I didn't throw us from the roof. You did that. Two, it's not murder if your victim doesn't actually stop breathing. I was able to crawl away with my life intact."

"Okay, attempted murder-suicide."

"I don't think I will ever be able to figure you out."

Peter smiled down at him, a gleam in his eye. "Now that you're less angry, we will talk about what happened."

"No."

"I can do this all day. And thanks to my niece's ability, you have the stamina to put up with me."

"I've never had sex used as a threat on me before. From you, it is oddly unnerving."

He shrugged. "Yeah, see, that's the thing. Threats and plots and violence, that's always expected from my family. But never me." Peter sat up and balanced himself so he awkwardly straddled one of Gabriel's legs. "Look at me. Really look at me. The last few hours aside, what goes through your mind when you look at me?"

"Honestly? First time I got a good look at you? I threw fucking locker doors at your head. Your family's like a pack of wolves and you're an angry little Chihuahua trying to attack my ankle."

"Exactly! That's how it's always been. Dad, Ma, even Nathan. All three the type to tear you apart limb from limb. But me? Nah."

"I'd always assumed you were too nice and selfless for that sort of thing."

Peter shrugged. "Usually. I mean I don't actually LIKE having to fight you. Or anyone. I hate it. But if i have to, I'll do what I can to get someone in position so I can rip their face off like the awkward angry chihuahua I am."

"Is this your way of telling me that if I don't tell you everything, you're going to keep-"

"There is something called too much of a good thing, Gabriel. I can make that happen very quickly and very easily. And I'll enjoy every single second of it."

"What about your job?"

"I don't actually need to work. My family is loaded and connected to the mob. I own the apartment outright because my uncle's firm owns the property. Ma doesn't think I know, but I was telepathic. Once."

Gabriel sighed and shook his head. "You know with your ability limited the way it is, I only let you push me around, right?"

Peter smirked. "Yeah. But we both know I can either be your jailer or your ally. One call is all it takes to have the Company at my door."

"You wouldn't do that. Not unless I kill someone." He pushed himself up onto his elbows, Hungry eyes taking in the expanse of pale skin marred with red finger marks on his hips - his initial Hunger sated he'd let Peter take any other ability he had wanted. Empathy was a favorite for a time, lending itself to long, languid strokes and curious roaming hands that had led to a broken IKEA dining chair.

A comfortable silence fell between them, light brown eyes tracing patterns in matted chest hair while large hands reached out to pull him forward by the hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles where bruises had begun to form from a tight and needy grip.

The silence remained, Peter having switched out abilities once again for Empathy at some point between a shared shower and paying the pizza boy at the door and trying to hide the wrecked apartment from view.

They shared Peter's bed that night. Clothed and comfortable side by side, simply existing together.

**o0o**

 

_**JUNE** _

 

"No."

"You promised me we would talk about this."

"Not today. Any day. Tomorrow. But not today."

"Why not today?"

"You know why!" Gabriel snarled back. "And don't for one second think you'll distract me!"

Peter held up his hands, taking a step back from him. "Just tell me one thing. One thing and I'll leave you alone for a week about it."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

"Swear it."

"Gabriel-"

"I mean it Peter. Swear to me you'll leave me alone about it for a week or so help me I'll walk out that door and you will never see me again."

"Fine." A copy of 9th Wonders hit him in the face. "Gabe what the hell-"

"Swear on it."

"I'm not swearing on an issue of 9th Wonders."

"Not even the one where we met?"

"What?"

"I was saving it for your birthday. But if it gets you off my case for a week-"

"Okay, fine yes!" Peter shouted back, placing it to his chest and holding it over his heart. "I, Peter Petrelli, swear on this copy of 9th Wonders where Gabriel and I met when he tried to kill my niece that I will stop pestering him for a week about what he did at the Carnival in April."

"And late March," Gabriel added. "Don't think I didn't catch that."

Peter groaned. "And late March." He slammed the comic book onto the table. "There. Now, answer one question."

"That was the agreement," he replied, wiping his hands with a paper towel before removing his apron.

"Why did you leave?"

"I told you-"

"Yeah, but you didn't give me any details. Just one reason why you left. That's all I'm asking. And don't say the empathy power because you've already told me that one. And told Emma."

"Shape-shifting," he said flatly. "I was losing control of my shape-shifting and having another identity crisis. It was upsetting enough for the child Rebel to see me like that. I didn't want to distress you."

"So you ran away and joined a circus?"

"Carnival. But yes. I needed somewhere away from you given certain... people I could potentially have turned into. I don't think it would have been pleasant coming home to find Danko or another government agent sitting at my desk."

The other possibility didn't need to be said as Peter's expression hardened.

"Now you know why I didn't want to talk about this today of all days. I had wanted to be considerate of your position. Our situation isn't exactly normal, even for people with abilities."

"I-" Peter started before he rounded the table, taking Gabriel's apron from his hands and setting it aside. "Thank you," he said simply as he hugged him. "I sometimes forget you do actually think of others now."

"Not others. Just the one I share a bed with." At Peter's chuckle, he added, "And Emma. Because she makes me cake and dinner sometimes." He returned the hug before pulling away and turning back to the kitchen. "Also, I picked up two bottles of your mother's favorite poison. I thought she may need it today. She's not as.. distanced from it as you and I are now."

"Six years..." Peter said, following him into the kitchen and taking the two bottles on the counter, putting them into a plain brown bag.

"Do you want to swap out before you go? Empathy will let you, well, empathize better with them. They still don't grasp the concept of our adjusted sense of time."

Peter shook his head. "No. I've got Emma's back. I'm practicing with the color coding. And I had an idea with using my tone in combination with the ability to see if I can evoke mild changes in people. I can test it out if someone starts sobbing uncontrollably. I usually get stuck with those types at these things anyway. You going to be alright tonight?"

"Peter if you don't want to go just say so. Angela will just have to be content with a phone call."

He shuffled from foot to foot in the kitchen behind him. "It's not that..." he said. "Not JUST that. You know she's probably dreamed about..."

"So? What business is if of hers what you do in your own bedroom?"

"You have to admit that even for people like us, this-" he said, gesturing between himself and Gabriel's turned back. "This isn't exactly normal. I don't really picture Mohinder lining up to date the man that murdered his father."

"It worked on you. Clearly my villainous acts were simply an attempt to get your attention."

"Gabriel-"

"I admit, it's not normal. Nothing about our lives have been normal since we discovered we're freaks of evolution." He turned around with a fresh mug of hot tea between his hands, and leaned back against the counter. "For fuck's sake Peter, I can accurately pinpoint the exact spot in a brain responsible for giving a person an ability, and by touch alone pick apart exactly how it works. In what world is that even remotely normal? This, you and me, is only happening because we need each other. You need me around to offset whatever divine force is constantly trying to get you killed in new and creative ways."

He stopped to take a sip of his tea.

"And you?" Peter asked. "What do you need me around for?"

He shrugged. "You force me to control my destructive nature."

"Your nature is not destructive. Before all of this you were actually kind of a decent person."

"And you're stalling."

"That obvious?"

"Yes. Go. And when they say they're going to hunt me down and kill me for oh poor Nathan, don't do anything stupid. Remember for them it's only been a year. And they don't know what you know. Especially Claire."

**o0o**

Peter had initially planned to stay at his mother's after the dinner party. That, however, had gone out the window after most of her guests had left. He had been in her kitchen, helping the catering staff clean up after as a way to escape the lingering guests.

He knew some of them, and some of them knew him. But some... some knew about his 'volunteer work', and of those he'd tried to keep a distance all evening. Or, when unavoidable kept conversation light and in the present on innocuous topics like work or college.

He'd managed to avoid the topic of his brother with those who knew the truth nearly all evening. He'd kept himself in check every time a snide remark or outright wishful threat was uttered where the normal, regular people couldn't hear.

But when the remaining catering staff quietly stopped their tasks as Peter was elbows deep in sudsy water and wine glasses, he knew he could avoid it no longer. The one thing, the only thing, he had been dreading about the entire evening had finally come. "Just a minute, Ma," he said as evenly in tone as he could, rinsing off one of her fine crystal glasses and placing it carefully in the rack with others. "I'm almost done."

"I don't want you to talk. I want you to listen. Surely you can manage that."

He felt his jaw tighten as he bit back his words and continued pulling glasses from the water and rinsing them.

"He is going to kill you. Maybe not now. Maybe not soon. He will get bored of you in time and he will do to you what he did to the last person who made the mistake of getting too involved. I cannot allow that. I will not lose another son to that monster."

He took a deep breath, but held his tongue.

"You will stay here tonight and tomorrow he will be gone. You will not look for him. You will not find him. And this family will put your foolish mistakes behind it."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no." He turned off the water and reached for a hand towel to dry his arms. It took every ounce of self restraint in him to roll down his shirt sleeves and keep from screaming. He could do it... just with the power of his voice. If he put just enough force behind it he could slice right through her with sound alone. His words could take shape and form with angry reds and oranges, and become colorful knives of rage. He wanted to... But it was his understanding, the last shreds of his natural empathy that stopped him. The fact that she was his mother that kept his thoughts inward and his voice from flinging words like blades.

"Listen to me, Peter. By choosing him over your family you are choosing certain death."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing the actual killer living in my apartment-" he paused long enough to gauge her reaction, finding no change in her expression. So... she knew already. Likely had known the entire time. Well, in that case... "and sleeping in my bed-" Again he noticed no change in his mother, save for a hardening of her gaze. "Has shown himself to be more human and more trustworthy than anyone else who has ever been in my life. Yeah," Peter said, reaching for his suit jacket. "He's killed me more than once. He killed my brother, and my father - your husband - and to be honest each time we fucking deserved it. I threw him off a roof the first time we met! Dad fucked with his head almost as bad as you did! And Nathan?! Nathan betrayed his family, and our entire fucking subspecies for personal gain and greed not once but twice! Most of us didn't get a free pass like you and Claire!"

Once his voice began to rise, and the colors of his words took on more angry, passionate reds it was only a matter of time before the counter to either side of his mother began to crack under the force of his voice directed at it. The sounds of the remaining guests beyond the kitchen door had quieted - no doubt many were listening in. The clean plates, stacked and ready to be re-packed for transit by the caterers rattled with the rising of his voice as he tried his best to keep it from ripping into his mother.

"Honestly, Ma, of all the futures you've dreamed, when did Nathan ever do the right thing?! Looking back at it, we should be thanking him for getting rid of him for us!"

The counter behind his mother began to buckle. "Peter, you need to calm down. You're losing control-"

"Right, because that's what I do. That's all I've ever been from day one. A bomb, a weapon, to be aimed and set off at the right time."

"Yes!" Angela shouted back. "Yes, is that what you wanted to hear?!" She came forward, slapping her hands down on the marble top of the island that was between them. "I admit it. I built you up, and I shaped you. The moment you were put in my arms I knew I had the opportunity to fix my mistakes! I suddenly had the strongest piece on the board and like hell I was going to give you up without a fight!"

"I'm not an asset you can just unleash as you please!"

"No, not anymore. You became so much more than that. You and my granddaughter are all I have left in this world and I will NOT let that maniac-"

"When you tried to kill dad, and thought you did, you could have stopped all of this! You could have given up on your insane plan to blow up New York! But you didn't! You didn't and here we are! The only maniac here is you and your sick need to control everyone around you like some twisted chess game!"

One of the cabinet doors splintered with a bang behind her, distracting her from Peter's angry ranting, and served as a reminder to the man that he needed to keep his sharp words slightly dulled. His quick temper had always been one of his worst qualities, something he'd tried to keep under control since the Nail Gun Incident. "I'm done here," he said. "Stay out of my life and leave us alone. Between the two of us we could probably destroy the planet if pushed too far."

"Peter-"

"Don't," he said, moving towards the kitchen door. But he stopped and looked back at her. "It was right in my face from the start you know. I just didn't understand what it meant until recently."

"What?"

"I had a dream about them after I threw Gabriel and I from the roof. I was in that jail in Texas waiting for Nathan to bail me out. I dreamed that Nathan flew straight there, and sat down to talk to me. I looked away from him just for a second, and then looked back. But it wasn't Nathan. It was him. That was almost two years ago. How long did you know before it happened?"

"Three years."

He released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"If you walk out that door you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"If I don't then I'll never forgive myself, or you." He pushed open the door to find the room full of... slumped, sleeping bodies. One more, a man in a chef's uniform, was in the process of being put to sleep by the tall, dark skinned man.

"Rene?" he asked, crossing the room quickly. "Rene what the hell?"

"Some secrets are best kept between a son and his mother."

"Was Claire-"

He shook his head as Peter looked around the apartment. "She and her father had already left before the shouting began."

"Thank you."

"Go home Peter."

**o0o**

Peter had spent the week in a stroppy mood. He didn't volunteer information about that night, and Gabriel didn't push after Peter had changed the subject so swiftly when asked about his mother's general health. He was jumpy unless he was at work, and even then he knew he was being paranoid. Not everyone in a suit was a Primatech agent. He knew that.

But he also knew his mother could be a very vindictive bitch and unless Rene had also erased her memory she would know the Haitian no longer held her interests at heart. It would only be a matter of time before she would strike. She'd proven she could, and would, sacrifice her children for a greater good. After making clear she'd lost him as well, be it by her own actions or his own choosing, she would now think nothing of trying to take him down.

Gabriel, on the other hand, had spent a week trying to ignore Peter's perpetual moodiness. He'd completely avoided him for three of the seven days.

By day eight Peter seemed to have calmed enough that Gabriel hadn't wanted to punch him just to give him something else to worry about. Suddenly, the potential fall out of telling Peter why he'd gone to the Carnival seemed to be preferable to the general nastiness Peter had been putting out for a week.

After a very rough and thorough tumble in the bed Gabriel had gone to the kitchen, and now returned with two bottles of cold water and a silver rectangular packet. The packet and a bottle were tossed as he came in, hitting Peter in the hip before falling to the mussed sheets beside him. "Was that really necessary?"

Gabriel opened his water, tossing the cap the nightstand before sitting down on the mattress. He kept one foot on the wood floor but had his other leg resting comfortably on the bed on front of him, bent inward at the knee with his foot hanging off the side. "I didn't want you falling asleep before I got comfortable."

Peter propped himself up on an elbow, shifting most of his weight to his side so he could snatch up the silvery packet. "It's not one of the unfrosted ones is it?"

"I stopped buying those after you insisted on spreading cake frosting on them," he said with a sigh, taking a pull off his bottle and settling back against the pillows. He closed his eyes and listened to the ripping of the thin plastic. Reaching out with the empathy ability, wrapping it around the other man and basking in the simple pleasure of happy discovery that the unlabeled snack was s'mores filled rather than fruit. A true treat indeed. But pleasure was followed swiftly by suspicion, then concern.

"You're trying to stay on my good side, aren't you?"

He opened one eye, and sipped his water.

"What did you do?"

He set his water on the bedside table next to the cap but didn't look Peter in the eye. Sticky fingers brushed his knee. "It's been a week. You even gave me an extra day without asking about it."

"Oh... that. Look, you don't have to-"

"No. I made you a promise. I don't break my word unless given a damn good reason."

Peter sat up fully then and drew his legs in close. He'd turned to give his full attention, then put his hand back on Gabriel's knee, squeezing firmly. "You were losing control of your abilities. The empathy and the shape-shifting."

"Yeah..." he said. "I was having trouble with the Hunger. The more I fought against it, the weaker my control became. I began hallucinating our third week after the Carnival."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It would have upset you."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter now. The hallucinations have stopped. I've begun to master this form of empathy I posses, and I have found a new way to feed the Hunger that while not as efficient is far more palatable."

"Gabriel you promised me you wouldn't go back to that."

He covered the hand on his knee with one of his own. "My kill count since last summer is still zero. And I've added no new abilities since gaining empathic touch."

Peter looked down at their hands. "So what did you actually go and do? When you came back home you were different. Not like you were when I came to find you, or how you'd been for months. It was like you'd taken the best of the one and used it to replace the worst of the other."

"What? Like some sort of Gabriel and Sylar hybrid personality?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess. I mean, you're still you. But you're confident again. You're smiling more-"

"Who wouldn't smile when they get to see you like this every day?"

"You know what I mean. You're more settled than you were. Less jumpy and distracted. So what changed?"

"I tried to have Nathan's memories removed." He winced in response to the sudden flare of tightly controlled anger that rolled off Peter as the man pulled his hand out from under Gabriel's. He'd learned that it wasn't him specifically that sparked the emotional response - it was actually being reminded of what was done to both Gabriel and Nathan that triggered the anger. But it could not be avoided now. Not if he was going to be honest with Peter.

Honesty, he had learned very early on in the Nightmare, had become the youngest Petrelli's hill to die on. All things considered over the last few years in the real world he couldn't argue against it.

"Did you?" he said after a long moment. Gabriel shook his head in the negative, which served only to make the anger spike again.

"I was able to have them collected and repressed. One of the men at the carnival has an ability similar to the Haitian’s. He couldn't undo what Parkman did. He and the Haitian isolated and sort of walled it off. When I had that nightmare, I recognized part of it wasn't mine. I thought the barriers were coming apart. That's why..."

"That's why you woke up wanting to see Rene. So he could give you a tune up?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah."

His word hung in the air, kept afloat by the tension that had arisen between them in the awkward silence. After ten minutes passed, Peter's anger falling to a simmering boil rather than an imminent volcanic explosion, Gabriel was the one to reach across the divide. He tested the waters by brushing his fingers against the nearest body part to him, one of Peter's elbows. "Peter?"

"I keep thinking I'm over that part of this whole fucked up situation but every time it comes up-"

"I know. But you need to get a handle on it because there's nothing any of us can do about it."

"But Matt-"

"Put me in a nightmare instead of fixing his mistake. And then tried to hide me in a wall like some story from Edgar Allen Poe. Admittedly I did drive him to suicide by cop in an attempt to kill us both. I can understand his justification for it." He shrugged. "There's nothing you or I can do that I haven't already done."

"Why aren't you angry?"

"I am. But if I let myself act on it then I will lose everything all over again. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."

The simmering anger began to ebb before the man smiled. It was small, but the storm had begun to pass. "Did you just quote Star Wars?"

Gabriel shrugged. "You always understand better when I explain using references to and imagery of the things you enjoy. By paying attention and bringing them up when relevant to illustrate a point in terms you are better able and equipped to understand it shows you that I care enough to pay attention to you."

"Was that from a self help book?"

"Probably. Nearly a full third of the books in that damned place with us were how to fix relationships or cope with divorce."

"Nathan?"

"He dealt with it by becoming an alcoholic like a normal person." He shook his head. "I read the books when I was stuck with Parkman. The man has serious issues."

The sound that exploded out of Peter's mouth could only be described by Gabriel as a giggle. His shoulders shook with mirth as he tried to contain it.

"What?"

"You. You of all people saying he... saying Parkman has..." He couldn't finish it as he reached out, grabbing his arm to keep from falling over in laughter.

**o0o**

 

_**OCTOBER** _

 

October was a month of monsters and creatures and all things grotesque. The fact that it was the month in which the monster slayer met the monster sitting on the sofa watching a classic Hammer horror movie was not lost on Peter. It served to underscore the truly bizarre twists and turns his life had taken two years ago.

"What are you doing? It's movie night. You're supposed be to sitting over here with me."

Peter slumped back in his chair with a sigh and ran a hand through his shaggy hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. "Bills. You do remember those, don't you?"

"Don't be so dramatic. I paid half of them yesterday. Now will you stop worrying? It's distracting."

"But- I- You-"

"Yes. I live here; I eat the food; I use the utilities. It made sense to pay my share."

"Where did you get the money? Even half of this pile is-"

Gabriel half turned, putting an arm on the back of the sofa so that he could more comfortably glare at Peter. "Now either shut up and join me or find something else to do."

"There's no way you had enough to cover all of that. You don't even have a job."

"I restore timepieces. It's a dying trade where I can pretty much set my price however I like because there will almost always be a need for someone to fix an antique."

"Great, you've been price gouging the neighbors."

"No, I was simply smart enough to transfer most of my funds to a high interest savings account before I started killing people so that should something happen like, I don't know, getting caught, I would have something to fall back on in the event that I were ever able to access it again."

"No way. There is no way you thought that far ahead." Peter pushed back from the table and stood, gathering up the loose papers and bills he'd been working his way through in an attempt to figure out the budget and what he - no, they - needed to cut back on to scrape by another month. Or move. They could always move to a smaller place... Though you couldn't get much smaller than what he had already in Manhattan. "Besides," he said, cramming a utility bill into it's half-torn envelope. "The moment your name hit the news and you were linked to the murders all your assets that the Company didn't already have would've been seized."

Gabriel shrugged and turned back to his movie. "Believe what you like. I'm either lying or I'm not. Now for the last time, come watch the movie or find something to do."

Peter finished cleaning up his mess at the table and shoved the papers into a drawer of the end table between the pull out chair and the sofa. He dropped down into the chair a few minutes later with a can of pop in each hand. Then offered Gabriel one. "So which one is it then?"

"The other one ended," Gabriel said absently.

"So what's this one?"

"The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll."

Peter glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Seems relatable."

Gabriel shrugged and opened his can. He took a sip before setting it on the table in front of him, careful to use a coaster despite Peter's many circular watermarks on the surface from his coffee mugs in the mornings. "I used to sneak out on the weekends when mother had her mid-day Valium. This little matinee a few blocks from the park near my house used to play old drive in films. The black and white classics. Summers had movies for kids. February and spring was for romances. I didn't sneak out as often for those."

Peter drank his pop silently as he listened to Gabriel talk about his favorite films from weekends spent at the cinema. Spending his allowance frugally and saving every extra penny, earning money by helping fix things for people - even at the age of ten he could strip down a cheap wristwatch to its base parts and put it back together better than new like his adopted father taught him - all for a single Saturday afternoon each week for a single film just to get away and escape for a short while.

"I asked Elle to come with me once," he said, pulling Peter from his silent contemplation. "Oh?" was the only response he received.

"Before I knew she was... It was after Brian Davis," he said, using telekinesis to crush his now empty can. An illustration, Peter realized, of what ability he'd gotten from the victim. "He was the first. Elle had been stopping by off and on or a month. It took me just as long to ask her on a date. At the time she seemed interested in the things I did. Liked the same books. Similar taste in music. I was a naiive boy with a crush for a pretty girl that was nice to me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I hit on my dying patient's daughter while in the middle of changing her dad's IV bag." Peter was happy to see the smile replace the brooding look that had come across his roommate’s face as he recalled his first victim, Elle, and all that had happened in the time after. "So did she go to the movies with you?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"She hated it. It was spy films weekend. Considering she was working undercover at the time, I can understand why it hit a little close to home for her."

Peter smiled softly. "Hey, I'll go make some popcorn. Grab a few more Cokes and I'll spend the whole night watching cheesy horror flicks with you."

"You don't have to do that just because-"

"I want to," he said.

Gabriel studied him for a moment. "I'd like that. I'll order pizza."

When Peter came back, large plastic mixing bowl in hand with three bags worth of two different types of popcorn dumped into it balanced carefully on one hand and the other holding a partial six pack of pop cans, he settled in next to Gabriel on the sofa, the bowl and cans set between them.

They broke their marathon long enough to pay for pizza before taking it, too, back to the sofa. By the time three AM came around, they'd run out of pop, popcorn, and had a slice and some crusts left of pizza between the two of them. Peter could barely keep his eyes open much longer and crawled off to bed telling Gabriel to leave the cleanup for the next day.

It wasn't until he'd stepped into the shower for work later that morning, letting the hot water ease the ache left in his muscles from a very over eager wake-up call to breakfast that he realized what the day before had been.

Two years ago in the real world, yesterday, Gabriel had thrown locker doors at him and he'd thrown them both from a school roof. He laughed so hard he nearly slipped in the shower.

Peter made it a point after that to spend at least one night a week on the sofa, with popcorn and pop, watching cheesy old movies all night even if he had work the next day.

**o0o**

 

_**NOVEMBER** _

 

Gabriel sat hunched over his desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he worked with very fine pointed tools. Work so delicate he couldn't trust it to telekinesis alone. Peter had stormed in over an hour before, paced around the apartment angrily, then disappeared. Presumably up to the roof, as he tended to do now when he was upset about something and didn't want Gabriel's empathy to latch on and give the man unavoidable feedback.

It was unnecessary, as the moment he felt Peter's presence nearby he always picked up on the man's emotions and desires within seconds. But the thoughtfulness was appreciated. A far cry from early on in their living arrangement when Peter didn't care how angry he became and would sit for days, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Then again, at the time Gabriel had been powerless and Peter had every right to be angry considering he had yet to spend five years trapped in the worst nightmare of his worst enemy.

The thought caused Gabriel to chuckle as he used his tweezers to put a small golden cog into place.

"What's so funny?"

"Hey. I didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah, well... Didn't want to break your concentration."

"How considerate," he replied as he finished securing a second small cog before setting his work down and removing the glasses. He turned in his seat to face Peter, a brow raised in silent question. "Well?" was all he'd said.

"Claire wants me to come to Ma's for Thanksgiving," Peter replied as the doors to the bedroom opened. He dropped down onto their bed and flopped back to stare at the ceiling in simmering anger rather than the explosive one he'd had when he came home initially.

"Because clearly last year's dinner went spectacularly."

"Nothing could be worse than that," Peter replied.

"It was a good pie."

"Not funny."

"Not trying to be."

Peter's chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath and released it in a sigh. "The bar is set pretty high on how badly it could go wrong."

"Tell her you already have plans."

"But I don't. We agreed to get Chinese and ignore the holiday."

"I may have told Emma that we'd bring a green bean casserole."

"You what?!" Peter propped himself up on his elbows and glared at him. "Gabriel! I told you I don't want to celebrate it!"

"I know, but it's Emma. All she has is her mom and her sister. And she did insist that since it's her turn to cook that week we might as well come over and have it count as one of our usual dinners."

Peter considered it for a moment. He still wasn't happy about it, but it did mean he wasn't lying exactly. "What about the day before or the day after? Claire's going to insist I make time for her and Ma."

Gabriel shrugged. "You could always tell her the truth. That your mother's a vengeful bitch obsessed with my destruction and you have a problem with that."

"Great. Yeah. That’d blow over really well."

"We're going to be coming up on Christmas again soon, Peter. You need to deal with Claire sometime before then. I don't want to look up from my work one day to see her standing in our living-room pointing a gun at my face."

"She doesn't know where you put your kill-spot. Hell, I don't even know where you put it."

"Still," Gabriel said flatly. "Rebuilding my face is a very unpleasant experience. Unlike your niece, I can still feel pain. Find a way to deal with her so that I don't get lead pumped into my face for Christmas.

Peter didn't. He told her he had plans already with friends, but he'd be happy to meet her for coffee before she and Gretchen went back to school after the holiday.

**o0o**

She'd been waiting for an hour for Peter to show up. She'd almost given up when the door chimed and she lifted her head to see him checking his watch and looking around the cafe. It was near Kirby Plaza. Seemed as good a place as any to meet, though she was a little put out by his reluctance to let her and Gretchen come spend the day at his place hanging out and catching up.

"Peter!" she exclaimed happily when he'd spotted her and come over. He had a messenger bag hanging off his hip that he stopped to take off and set on the floor beside the chair left for him. They embraced tightly before he moved to hold her seat for her, pushing it in gently as she sat. He then took off his coat and draped it on the back of his chair.

"Sorry I'm late. I just got off-"

"I thought you said you didn't have to go in today."

"I didn't. But something came up and technically I was on call so... But hey. I'm here now. And my showing up for work let Dicky take off to watch his twins be born so I can't really be that upset about it."

"His name's Dicky?"

"It's what he said to call him when he was brought onto the crew." He sat up a little straighter when the waitress came by to take his order.

"And another for me, thanks," Claire said. "Caramel macchiato. With plenty of whipped cream."

"You got it," she said.

"Oh, and can I two of those big softball sized muffins, too. Blueberry," The waitress added it to the order ticket, and just before she put it away, Peter added, "The muffins are to go."

"But you just got here!"

"For later. They're perfect for a late night snack when my sleep's been thrown off by extra shifts," he lied, thankful that his niece only had the one ability.

They talked about their lives since the last time they saw one another in June. Claire did most of the talking as Peter redirected conversation when it strayed too close to his personal life. They got on the subject of Thanksgiving, the day Peter had managed to avoid just a few days prior by spending a pleasant evening with Emma's family and Gabriel - who had botched their green bean casserole much to the amusement of Emma's sister.

"When I told her you didn't want to come, she didn't even act surprised. She told me what happened last year," she said, glancing around and lowering her voice and leaning forward some. "Sylar taking back control and crashing dinner."

"I don't want to talk about it," Peter said. "Ma knows why I didn't want to come. Besides, I didn't sit at home eating Chinese and watching TV all night."

"Right. Plans with friends. Peter, the only friends you have are all like-"

"I have friends outside of... that group of people. I'm seeing someone now. We were invited by a coworker of mine to dinner since she doesn't really have a big family but loves to cook." It wasn't a total lie, just bits were omitted.

"You're actually... wow."

"Yeah, I date now. That's a thing normal people do." He picked up his coffee, but didn't take a sip. "I know part of you is still mad about the end of last year. But honestly this is the longest I've spent in my apartment since the eclipse two years ago. I've managed not to risk losing my job for over a year, and I haven't been picked up by who knows what group now and poked and prodded and experimented on. I'm not running for my life in the woods. I haven't had weird fortune telling dreams. No one's wanted to kill me for whatever crazy reason they've decided on this time."

"Not from the way Angela and my dad tell it."

Peter still didn't take a sip of his drink and set it back down on the table. "What? What have they said about me?"

"That Sylar's got in your head. Convinced you he's a good guy now. You're not the first one he's tricked, Peter."

"Don't be ridiculous, Claire. He's nothing like he used to be. It's like night and day. And again, he's not done anything in the last year that anyone needs to worry about. He's not relapsed and he's sticking with the program I put down for him. What more do you all want?"

"Someone wiped his records. Every database everywhere. Why would anyone do that?"

Peter shrugged. "That's news to me," he lied again.

"You've really changed Peter. Doesn't family mean anything to you anymore?"

He sighed, shaking his head and leaning forward, resting an arm on the table with his coffee between it and him. "This is your attempt at an intervention isn't it? Did Ma put you up to this?"

"We're worried about you. You haven't... you haven't been the same since Nathan-"

"Don't, Claire."

"Peter listen to me."

"No, we're done here."

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Look, I'm sorry. Okay. I'm sorry I brought it up. Just stay and I promise I won't talk about... them... anymore." He looked down at her hand on his wrist and frowned, a feeling of panic and dread flooding through him that was not his own. And a burning hatred attempting to infect his very core. He smiled to cover his unease and resettled. One hand, however, remained below the edge of the table, out of sight as he slipped his phone from his pocket.

He'd practiced it a few times since they had found Company goons following them and Emma around one night as they went to dinner then a show afterwards on their get together nights. Just a tap of a few buttons, not even a complete number, would connect him to Rebel and his information network. A lifeline that was available to him, as long as he ensured Gabriel never went back to his old ways. As long as he stayed on the side of he heroes, as Rebel put it, then he would help them.

He waited sixty seconds, then put his phone back into his pocket. He hated waiting for a response. "Alright, fine."

"So you're seeing someone. Are you still with Emma or-"

"She broke up with me, actually. I was going through a really weird time and she realized before I did that it wasn't going anywhere. We're still really good friends though. We meet up for dinner when we can. She's the one I went to Thanksgiving for, actually." He sipped his coffee and waited for the ring back.

"Oh... I really liked her. She was very sweet. She and Gretchen hit it off really well." She sipped her own drink, then wiped at the foamy cream on her lip with a napkin. "You know I have to meet the new girl, right? Have to give my official family freak seal of approval."

"So how did the extended family take seeing you with your girlfriend at Thanksgiving?"

It was Claire's turn to frown, taking a plastic stirrer and poking it into her drink, swirling it around. "I don't want to talk about it."

"And that's why I didn't want to come."

"Peter! I didn't know you were-"

"I'm not. I mean, I am. But not always... Look. It's no big deal. A mutual acquaintance set us up and we really started to click. We've been together a while now and I think I love him. Really lo-"

"Does he know? About... about what you can do?"

"Yeah. He's, uh... really strong. Abnormally strong. Had to uh... replace some furniture."

Her face twisted in disgust and mortification, which she tried to hide by taking big gulp of her drink. Peter smiled smugly. "Not quite what I meant but as far as that goes-"

"No no no. I don't need any more details. God. I know more about... I really could have gone my entire life believing you were some kind of super monk."

Peter was about to sip his coffee again when his phone rang. Right on schedule. With his normal ring tone, too. That meant there was still time enough. Then again... He looked down at the caller ID. "Hey, will you excuse me for just a sec. I need to take this."

He left for the bathroom, seeking privacy. She waited, stirring her coffee and watching the clock on the wall above the counter by the barista station. Peter was back after a few minutes, picking up his bag. "Hey where-"

"On call," he said. "If I hoof it now I'll get there in record time." He leaned down to give her a half hug before picking up his carry-out box of two muffins. "Hey, it was good to see you. I'm still not talking to Ma though so, uh, do what you want with that."

"Peter wait!"

But he was gone. The moment the cafe was out of his sight he ran as fast as he could.

**o0o**

Rebel's message had come through just as he had closed up the panel on the large standing clock he'd been hired by his favorite pawn broker to repair. He'd been connected with Peter soon after.

He waved off payment and left out the back door. He was soon scaling the wall to the roof as he had in the old days before he'd gained the ability to fly. He was aided by his telekinesis - truly the Swiss Army knife of abilities.

From roof to roof he went, one step ahead of the Company agents Rebel had spotted on the traffic cams and various CCTV systems in the area. It was clear from his words that Peter knew he could be overheard or was being watched. A restaurant on Wall Street. Pick up Peter Pan peanut butter from the store. Simple and easy to understand. The Peter Pan statue in the park of the Nightmare - a Nathan addition to his seemingly endless torment - was a frequent place they would meet up in the last year they were there together behind the Wall. Usually around meal times unless Peter was particularly annoyed that day.

The park itself in his dream had many pieces of Central Park. The place where the statue should have been was clearly identifiable. He went, and he waited.

Peter finally showed up just after sunset. They met at a bench that sat across from where the statue should have been standing and hugged. "Thank God you're alright."

Gabriel shrugged. "I expected you a lot sooner."

"I had a tail. Needed to shake them off."

"Home tonight?"

"No. We'll head to a motel. Lay low for a day or two before heading back home."

Gabriel sighed, hugging Peter again and kissing his forehead. "You know your mother has a fully trained mercenary force under her, led by a guy who has the biggest axe to grind. If this is what happens when you don't call your mother for five months I would hate to see what she'd do if you left the country."

"For the last time we're not going to Mexico."

"I was thinking the Canadian wilderness but Mexico is-"

Peter pulled away and looked around, paranoia at an all time high in spite of his insistence that things would be fine. "No. If I know Ma, she'll change her mind in a few days after she's had another crazy dream."

"Take shape-shifting and follow me. I know just the place. They don't ask questions, especially if you don't show up alone."

They left the island, heading for a seedy area of Brooklyn. The motel Gabriel led him to was only clean if you didn't stop to think about what might show up under a black light. It was cheap and offered by the hour and didn't ask for ID. They were able to pay for two nights using just the cash they had on hand between them.

Peter took the key ring and tried not to feel disgusted just touching it with his bare fingers. He'd stayed in some really bad places before but this was by far the absolute worst. Gabriel, however, seemed right at home.

The blinds were down and the curtains drawn closed, leaving a sliver of space for either man to peer through.

"It's times like these I wish I still had enhanced hearing. Footsteps, heartbeats, breathing. I could hear everything from miles away. It was a painful ability but useful," Gabriel said as he checked the window again. It was clear neither man would get any sleep that night. Peter because he clearly didn't know if the sheets had been washed recently and Gabriel because Peter's anxiety was setting off his hunter's instincts. The Hunger was stirring from it's slumber.

"How did you lose your abilities in the first place. I thought once you knew how they worked you could probably just turn them on and off."

Gabriel left the window to sit on the corner of the bed nearest Peter and the lopsided plastic table in the corner. "Honestly? I don't really remember a lot of it."

"One of the fuzzy ones?"

He shook his head "No. I was in and out of it for months after Kirby. Didn't know where I was or how I got there. There's flashes. A lot of pain. Screaming. My powers were suppressed. The Company dragged me away, saved my life, and used me as a science experiment. I killed the woman they had watching me but couldn't use her ability. I couldn't even use my own."

"And I thought I had it bad. They told me they could help me get rid of my powers for good. Gave me these sort of Haitian pills every day to suppress my abilities. I thought I'd be able to leave when they found a cure but Adam was there for 30 years." Gabriel raised a curious brow. Peter rolled his eyes. "The guy in the cell next to me. We could talk to each other using the ventilation shaft. Learned the only way out of there was to break out or in a body bag."

Gabriel chuckled and shook his head. "Jesus Peter. How are you even still alive at this point in your life? You keep making really stupid decisions and trusting everyone you shouldn't."

"Trusting you didn't turn out as badly as it could have."

"One of the smartest decisions you've ever made."

"You're only saying that because I'm the only person who knows what you've done and doesn't want to kill you anymore."

Gabriel shrugged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he said. "Anyway... found out I had some virus that took away my abilities and made my way north. Found out I was in Mexico. A brother-sister duo found me passed out in the road half dead. The sister killed a lot of people, and was trying to reach Suresh so he could cure her. I said I knew him. Not a lie, just not the whole truth."

"They gave you the Shanti virus?"

He shrugged again. "Stole one of his syringes, cured myself and all I had left was the Hunger and this." He lifted his hand, cupping air between them as Peter felt the pressure against his face. Invisible fingers brushing his face as he closed his eyes and subconsciously pushed back against it. He felt them pull away, sliding down his cheek to his jaw, then under his chin, causing him to sigh into the pleasant smile that spread across his lips before Gabriel's hand lowered and the pressure faded. "The first one I ever took."

"Why didn't you regain the others after?" Peter asked as he opened his eyes, readjusting to the harsh light from the gaudy overhead fixture. "Why just the one?"

"I didn't know. It took me a long time to figure it out but once I did it became clear how my power was intended to work rather than the method I preferred at the time. I had suspected the truth but your father confirmed it for me after he had time to examine it himself."

"When he stole my powers."

Gabriel nodded. "An intense emotion that connects me with another human being. You needed to recall how those people made you feel in order to use your abilities, but you lacked control. I had complete mastery of the abilities I took, but I was incapable of understanding the connection between the abilities and the people I took them from."

"But you understand everything. That's literally your power. To understand."

"Human anatomy. Mechanical engineering. Rules of language. Economics. Veterinary sciences. Mathematics. Superhuman abilities. All carefully structured complex systems I can figure out easily when given the time to study them for at most half an hour. But human thought and emotion are things I struggled with long before I discovered my ability. When your father confirmed for me that not only did I need to form an emotional connection to another person, I had to reciprocate the emotion in some fashion. I had to feel an intense, binding emotion for them in order to make it a permanent part of myself."

"So when you tried to kill yourself..."

He nodded, looking away in shame. He sensed movement from the table, but refused to turn his face to him. Peter closed the distance between them, standing in front of him and resting his hands on Gabriel's shoulders. "Look at me."

"Peter-"

"Look at me." He put his fingers beneath his chin, much as the invisible hand had done to him, and gently applied pressure in the direction he wanted. Gabriel refused still. His body felt flushed when the skin contact was made. His shame warring with the flood he felt coming from Peter. He closed his eyes tightly and remained firm in his reluctance. It wasn't until Peter dropped to his knees on the floor, trying to make him look at him from another angle that Gabriel finally looked at him.

"What?"

Peter reached up to cup his face, reaching out with his ability to trade shape-shifting out for something else. The one that had alerted him earlier in the day that something was amiss. The one that had given him the insight that Claire wasn't only in the cafe to catch up. The ability that now reassured him that he'd made the right choice in June. That he continued to make the right choice by not getting involved whenever his phone rang and it was someone asking for his help with a rogue Special. Or someone trying to get him to help lure Gabriel into a trap.

"I've been thinking about leaving New York for a while. I just didn't really see a reason to pack up and move. But there's too much going on here. Too many people trying to drag me back into the shit and to many bad memories."

"You'd leave your job? And your friends?"

"Our friends," he corrected, making it quite clear which group of friends he cared more about. "And I like my job. But I can always get another one."

"What about your family? You know Angela won't-"

"Stop doing that. Stop trying to find excuses to make me stay." He reached up with his other hand, framing his face to keep Gabriel looking at him. "We're never going to be left alone if we stay in New York."

"You want me to come with you?"

"Of course. I-"

"Don't say it. Don't lie to me because you think it's what I want to hear. The last person to do that-"

"Yeah, I know. I'm the one that pulled the trigger."

"Peter-"

Peter leaned forward, pulling Gabriel's face down to his own. Lips pressed against lips in gentle, controlled affirmation. Hands slid back to tangle fingers into soft dark hair. When Gabriel attempted to deepen the kiss, Peter pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. Light brown eyes open and searching the dark chocolate orbs in front of him. "I love you." Three simple words, whispered just for him. Honestly and truthfully. Sincere in their declaration and without a hint of malice or manipulation. No strings. No secret agendas. No ringing of lies and omission of little truths.

Gabriel had known it long before the words were said. He'd felt the shift in Peter's emotions months ago. He knew within the hour of it happening; when physical lust and comfortable benefits had turned to true affection and desire. Any hope for reciprocity he had buried and hidden, seeing himself as unworthy of more than just his personal savior's friendship and companionship. As long as the words were never said, as long as he never heard them, he could pretend just a little longer that things hadn't changed at all.

He could pretend that Peter didn't need him as much as he needed Peter.

"I wish you didn't," Gabriel whispered back, having brought his arms up to pull Peter closer as he closed his eyes.

But he knew already he had closed the windows to his soul six years too late; the man who dig his fingers into his hair, who's body he had memorized inch by desperate inch, had walked along the empty streets of his worst nightmare, had seen his darkest hours and his greatest triumphs and yet still found something worth saving in him.

"I know."

They spent two nights in the dirty motel in Brooklyn making their plans. They'd gotten in touch with Rebel, who had reported that their apartment had been searched and bugged, but that he had already encrypted and re-routed the data streams. He offered to shut them all down, but Gabriel suggested leaving them active as a way for Rebel to monitor the situation until they were ready to leave.

It would take a month before Peter could get his affairs in order, which meant spending his birthday and Christmas in the apartment. It gave Gabriel plenty of time to complete ongoing projects for any clients he had on the books so that they had extra money for travel.

**o0o**

 

_**DECEMBER** _

 

Life wasn't exactly back to normal... looking over their shoulders and keeping to well populated areas. They had decided not to tell their friends, the whole two of them, until Peter put in his notice at work.

The key to pulling off their disappearing act was to make it look like they were simply going to take a vacation. It kept questions down and if anyone who knew them, such as neighbors, or Emma, were asked then it would at least give them an extra day head start.

It would also take a while for Rebel to pull the strings he needed to pull in order to get them new, untraceable identities.

In the meantime... life had to carry on.

And that meant dinner with Emma and Hesam. And it was Gabriel's turn to cook as Emma insisted that the two men needed to get more into the festive spirit. Hence why she'd lugged a fake tree across New York in the dead of winter, and insisted that they nearly spoil their dinner with cookies and drinks as they all decorated it before dinner.

"Come on, Gabriel. You have to put some on, too!" she'd called from the dining area window where they had set up the tree.

He came out of the kitchen long enough to put a single glass ball on the tree. "There," he said as he signed. "Now leave me alone. I'm cooking."

"Party pooper," she replied, but it was all in good fun. He shook his head and returned to the kitchen.

The entire evening went by in such a manner, ending with drinks on the sofa and an old black and white Christmas movie, with the subtitles on of course. When Peter had returned later from walking Emma down to the street and helping hail her a cab, he found Gabriel at his desk. While not entirely unusual, he had left the man clearing up the kitchen and had expected to see him still there, or in the bedroom when he'd returned.

"Hey, thought you were done with work for the night."

"Yes... I just wanted to put some finishing touches on this one."

"It can wait until morning. I'm exhausted and-"

"Go on to bed, Peter. I'll just be a few more minutes."

A few more minutes turned into an hour as he tightened the coils and adjusted the tiniest gears. He had worked on the project laid out before him for quite some time. Wanting to make it perfect. Ensuring the pieces he placed were not only of a high quality metals, but ones that were hard to damage or destroy. Ones that could take a hit and keep on ticking.

At last, after months of toil, the mechanism inside began ticking. Steady and even, and after some adjustment, keeping perfect time. Not too fast, nor too slow.

His work completed, he carefully placed it into a small box and tucked it to the back of one of his desk drawers. The only indication Peter made of noticing he'd come to bed was mumbled and mangled "Love you Gabe" and burrowing deeper into the blankets as the taller man molded himself around him.

**o0o**

Peter had told Emma he was leaving the hospital the same day a package appeared in his locker at work. He'd checked the unmarked envelope and was pleased to see inside the paperwork for new identities. He didn't think he looked much like a Tony but beggars couldn't be choosers.

She'd wanted to know why. He hated lying to her, and knew that his help with deciphering the colors and their meanings with words and tone, that she would know he would be hiding something from her. So, he'd told her the truth. The he and Gabriel were leaving the state and had no plans to return if they could help it. He didn't know where they would go or end up, but when they were settled he'd send her a post card or something to let her know they were alright.

Two days later on his birthday, he was surprised to have Gabriel meet him outside the employee entrance of the hospital. "I thought we were meeting up at the restaurant. Did something happen? Why didn't you call me?"

"Nothing happened. I was in the neighborhood."

"Across town."

"Emma wanted to meet up for lunch. You know I can't say no to that woman." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Figured I might as well wait around for you. Could stop somewhere and pick out your Christmas present."

"I told you I don't want anything. My birthday is more than enough to deal with. If we never have Christmas again I would be perfectly happy with that." He tugged on the strap of his bag and had to speed up his pace to keep up.

Every now and again Peter would catch him staring from the corner of his eye, slowing down his pace just long enough for Peter to catch up to him.

**o0o**

Peter liked to sing in the shower.

It was something Gabriel had hated when they were alone in his nightmare.

But over the course of a year in the real world again, it had become amusing to him. The cracking voice as he tried to hit notes far too high. The uncaring off-key chorus of whatever pop song he had heard on the radio during his break or on the way to work that morning.

Now he sat in the chair that had once been his bed. A well read book in his lap and his elbows resting on the arms with his hands resting atop the open book. He sat staring at the bathroom door that had been left ajar to help with the steam that would build up in the windowless room. His fascination could not be hidden any longer as he watched the swirls of color mixing in with the steam. Billowing out with each off-key note and mispronounced word.

Not for the first, nor for the last time, he silently thanked the woman who's life he saved a year ago. While Peter was off saving lives, she had him at the piano in the children's wing. He couldn't play. Never had a lesson. But she talked him through it. Offering to share her power with him. Her Christmas gift for her very own hero.

All he needed to do was focus on the sounds. Think about how they made him feel. It had taken the better part of three hours before he finally saw the sparkles of color. The wisps of misty yellows and bright blues and vivid violets that the piano exuded with each note played. When at last he had set his hand to the keys and followed her lead he could see the world the way she did.

His contemplation was broken when Peter emerged from the bathroom in a billow steam in a state of half-dress. His hands made quick work of the buttons on his long-sleeved dark green shirt. The top button at the collar was left undone, and Gabriel couldn't help but wonder if it was done to distract him on purpose or autopilot. Peter's ignorance of the effect his appearance had on others had often frustrated him. Believing they had been brothers was, for a time, a relief. There had been a moral weight that had made him feel... not bad or regretful but rather a small modicum of shame. It gave him a reason to refocus his attentions and obsessions elsewhere.

"Ten more minutes," Peter said, passing to the bedroom. Gabriel closed his book and set it on the end table; he had read it many times already.

"Keep this up and we'll never make the reservation," he called back, checking himself to ensure he had everything he needed. Patting down his pockets, he frowned and crossed the room to his desk. He searched all of the drawers quickly before sighing in relief. The small brown box nestled in the back corner of the bottom left hand drawer was safe and sound. He hid the box when Peter came back through.

"Have everything or do you need another hour to do your hair?"

Almost as a reflex Peter combed through his hair with his fingers, a bit of fringe falling back into his eyes. "Come on. I'm starving. If I have to wait much longer I'll probably gnaw an arm off."

"Use one of mine. I'll just grow another one."

"Ha ha. Funny," he replied, voice thick with sarcasm.

Gabriel kept hold of the box, keeping it from sight until he had his coat on and had been able to slip it into a pocket.

**o0o**

Dinner was a pleasant affair at some Mediterranean fusion restaurant Peter had mentioned in passing. The food wasn't anything special to write home about, but the atmosphere was deceptively intimate. Much of the conversation between them over appetizers had been lighthearted. Gabriel told him about his last delivery before he could pack away his tools for their trip. A mantle clock that had been a poorly made knock-off of an antique Sessions model from the 1800s. Peter didn't hide his amusement at Gabriel's insistence that he didn't have the heart to tell the woman it was a reproduction from the late 90's. She had seemed so proud of having the thing.

As the appetizers were replaced with wine and entrees, Peter had started telling him about his day, leaving out the more... graphic details of the patients he transported if only for the sake of his own appetite. Gabriel had listened attentively, enraptured by the changes of color to match Peter's shifting tones. Each time he said the name of a friend it had a different color and shape to it. Hesam's name was a deep orange with swirls of goldenrod.

Emma's name was pink. A light swirling mist of pink and lavender. When he had mentioned getting a call from Claire for his birthday, and not answering it, his words were low and rumbling with discontent. Their colors a stormy silvery blue. He'd checked the message, though, and relayed the apologies she'd offered for Peter alone. Sarcasm and cynicism, Gabriel learned then, was a sickly yellow-green.

A comfortable, silence came between them, but they continued to speak through emotion alone. He knew Peter had taken empathy from him in the cab - as he often did when they were out with others. It was Peter's way of keeping track of Gabriel's social anxiety without the two of them actually having to say anything about it. Eventually he felt Peter nudge him beneath the table with his foot, and looked up to see him looking away quickly and smiling. He remembered the gift in his coat and turned some in his seat when Peter wasn't looking so that he could take it from the pocket.

After a last minute brief reconsideration, he drew a deep breath and righted himself in his seat. Setting the gift on the table, he then pushed the small, nondescript box forward between the wineglass and Peter's plate. "Happy birthday."

Peter looked down at it a moment. He set his fork down, cutting his eyes across the table then back to the box. "I'm not going to open it and find a box of wasps am I?"

"Of course not. Why would I do something like that?"

"Because you're you."

"Okay, why would I do something like that to YOU?"

Peter fixed him with a look that seemed to express that if they weren't in public he'd give the man across from him a short list of impossible things leading to terrible acts committed against him by Gabriel. "Just open it," the older man said. "Before I come to my senses and go find some cheerleader to terrorize for a few hours."

"Still not funny."

"Just open the damn box, Peter," he said, picking up his wineglass and taking a slow, small sip. Peter snatched up the box, giving it a slight shake. He stopped when he felt the sudden horrified wave of emotion rolling off the man across from him at the action. Whatever lay inside must have been rather fragile.

He stopped immediately and opened the top of the box. A layer of crumpled newspaper lay on top. He pulled this out and balled it tightly into a smaller ball, setting it aside. Nestled below the initial layer was a watch. He looked up to see expectant brown eyes watching him closely. Anticipation coming off him in steady pulses with an undercurrent of anxiety and a hint of something Peter couldn't quite place. Clearly it was very important that Peter like the gift.

Taking it out of the box to get a better look at the thing, he could see why.

_"Sylar?"_

_"It's a scar. A reminder of what I was. Of what I can be. Fix it."_

There would be no fixing of the watch this evening. No learning how to access an ability beyond his control or comprehension. No future that needed to be altered or prevented. Only a declaration the man across from him could not bring himself to put into words.

Peter held the watch in his hand, watching the steady movement of the second hand as it ticked rhythmically around the black and white watch face. The little view window for the date read 23 in black against white. The glass... the glass however was still broken.

Gabriel watched him, unaware of the thoughts running through Peter's mind, chasing the man in circles of memories of a time that no one would ever see. A world that would never come to exist. "Peter?"

"Thank you," Peter said tenderly, brushing his thumb over the cracked and broken glass covering the now expertly repaired timepiece. "I... I know how much this meant to you. Thank you." He turned it over in his hands then fixed Gabriel with a curious stare. "Why?" was all he asked of the date he found etched into the metal backing. "I mean, I know it was a weird day and the Carnival, and Parkman's and-"

"Right before we escaped, you gave me a gift. It wasn't my birthday."

"I still don't know when it is."

"To be honest, I don't really know either. I'd rather not celebrate it." Peter nodded his understanding as Gabriel continued. "However it is something important to you. I thought perhaps if I had to pick a date to fill that need, Sylar's death day would be the best choice. A reminder of who I used to be."

At his last words, Peter's breathing seemed to hitch. Just for a second, just barely noticeable. But to the hunter it felt like it stretched into eternity.

"I love it," Peter said, removing his own watch and putting it into the box before replacing it with Gabriel's gift.

"I know it's still cracked. Once we're settled somewhere I'll need to special order-"

"It's perfect the way it is," Peter said quickly, still admiring the watch even as it sat on his wrist. His half-dead mouth turned upwards at one corner in a smile of fondness that Gabriel liked to think no one else had ever been allowed to see. Peter's words were veiled in a swirl of violet red and deep, calming blues that Gabriel had quickly come to associate with Peter's warmth and affection over the course of the evening. "Let's go home," Peter said, never taking his eyes away from the watch on his wrist.

**o0o**

The cab ride back to the apartment was quiet save for the Christmas carols the driver had playing, and the man's terrible singing. Hard on the ears, but the colors emanating from the front of the car were bright and cheery. Canary yellows and fluorescent oranges and neon greens. Happy. Joyous.

The men took the steps two at a time to their apartment, and no sooner had they gone inside than their winter coats were dropped in the general vicinity of the hooks near the door. Hands tugged and pulled eagerly at cloth covered limbs as Peter backed him further into the apartment. They silently toyed with the idea of using the dining table, but reconsidered when it had groaned under the weight of Peter sitting on the edge of it so Gabriel wouldn't have to keep bending his neck down to reach his lips.

They'd gotten halfway to the bedroom when Gabriel broke the hungry kisses so that he could sit on the arm of the sofa and undo his shoes. Peter moved to the bedroom, hopping on one foot and then the other part of the way so he could get his own off. He stopped at the bed, looking over his shoulder as he started to undo the buttons of his shirt. Gabriel followed, his own dress shirt cast aside, presumably thrown haphazardly over some piece of furniture as he stalked in behind him.

Hungry lips pressed against his neck as strong, large hands touched him at his upper arms and pulled him back. Peter pressed back against him biting his lower lip to stifle a moan as Gabriel mouthed up the side of his neck to his ear. He let his hands be pulled away from their task when Gabriel slid his hands down to his forearms before wrapping his bare arms around him, taking over the task.

He hissed as teeth sank sharply into his earlobe. Hard enough to bruise, but not enough to draw blood. That was a level of restraint he rarely experienced in this position. He didn't have time to ponder it as his lover's voice murmured in his ear. "I could do anything to you like this."

The last of the buttons came undone, the shirt left on and open as Gabriel let one hand drop to linger at his belt, the other slid up his abdomen, keeping him in place against his chest. "I can pin you to the wall," he whispered between kisses and nips. "Fuck you 'till you scream my name." Peter let his head fall back to rest against him, bringing his own hands back up to hold onto the arm across his chest.

"I could take you apart..." The hand at his waistband came away, crackling with blue electricity as Gabriel shocked him. Just a little. Just the way he'd learned Peter liked. Just enough to sting, but not enough to truly hurt. "Piece by piece until there's nothing left for me to take..."

Peter gasped, pulling Gabriel's arm away just enough to turn himself around. Gabriel readjusted his hold and pushed Peter backwards until the edge of their bed hit the back of his knees. Little shocks went up his spine as Gabriel slid his hand up the back of his dress shirt.

"Tell me what you _want,_ Peter," he said softly, attacking the man's neck with his lips again.

Peter pulled away from him, sitting down on the bed and scooting back towards the center. Gabriel let him leave his embrace, and followed him onto the bed. Crawling across like a predator stalking his prey. "Tell me what you _need_." He watched Peter's face. He didn't need to hear an answer to know what it would be.

He let his undershirt be taken off, and sighed as Peter ran his hand through his chest hair before reaching for his belt. He batted Peter's hands away, undoing it and removing his pants and boxers himself, kicking them off the bed before allowing himself to relinquish his control, giving himself over for whatever Peter wished to take of him.

**o0o**

Peter buried his face in the pillow in reluctance to accept a new day had begun. Even as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the scents of a hot breakfast. Eventually relenting he crawled out of bed. His whole body ached from head to toe; the soreness made pleasant by the previous night's activities. Searching for something, anything to cover his nakedness, he caught sight of his wrist. A smile spread across his face as he stopped to stroke the band, then turned his wrist over to check the time.

He found a pair of Gabriel's boxers on the floor, shrugged and pulled them on before grabbing up a discarded tank top, pulling it over his head as he padded out into the living-room. He yawned, stretching his tired arms above his head before passing the sofa and sinking down into a chair at the table. "Smells good," he said loudly in order to be heard over the radio in the kitchen.

"I thought that might convince you to get up," Gabriel said as he emerged from the kitchen, a cup in each hand with plates following closely behind him. Cups were set down with plates sliding onto the table as he sat down across from him. "I spoke to Edgar earlier this morning. He's agreed to let us use the guest trailer for a few nights until we figure out where to go. While I'm reluctant to go back into hiding, it is a necessary evil to be free from your harpy mother."

Peter nearly choked on his pancake having to spit a wad of syrupy bread into his napkin. He took a gulp of his coffee to clear is throat. "I've heard her called a lot of things. Harpy's a new one."

"Not to her ears I'm sure," he replied. "Now eat. You've already slept most of the day away and we need to iron out the finer details of this grand exit you're dragging me along into."

"I'm not dragging you along anywhere."

Gabriel smirked at him from across the table, deliberately changing only his voice box for added affect to his mocking impersonation. "Oh no! We have to leave New York Gabriel. My mommy's going to catch you and lock you away forever and ever."

Peter flicked a piece of toast at him. "I do NOT talk like that!"

Chuckling, Gabriel put his voice back to normal as his face was pelted with a second small piece of toast shortly after the first. "No, but you have to admit that it wasn't really that far from what you were thinking at the time." He pushed bits of pancake around in the syrup with little interest. Truth be told he wasn't really that hungry. But breakfast, or rather lunch as the time currently dictated, had usually been spent with Peter regardless of each man's plans or schedule for the day. Sometimes neither of them ate, but sat and picked at their plates anyway because of old habits. Routines that dictated the long days and longer nights behind the Wall together.

"I've been thinking lately about where we should go."

"Not Mexico."

"You'd have to drug me and drag me if you wanted to take me back to that hellhole of a country," Gabriel said in almost a snarl. Peter frowned at him. Realizing his slip, he toned it down and pulled back his sudden aggressive emotions. He pushed more pancake around his plate, letting it break up in the syrup into mushy bits. "We need somewhere neither of us have ever been, and where we have no ties to anyone or anything."

"That rules out California, Texas, Delaware, and Maryland on my end."

"Add New Jersey to the list."

"Jersey?"

"My birth father," he said, finally setting his fork down. "The more distance I put between him and I the better."

"What was he like?" Peter asked, stuffing a forkful in his mouth now that he was certain he wouldn't choke. "Was he like..."

"Us?"

Peter nodded.

"He is what I will ultimately become. An old, impotent hunter surrounded by trophies of past glory. Alone, bitter, and afraid. Facing him meant facing the reality of what I had done to myself. He will eventually escape his suffering, but I never will." He picked up his cup and took a swig of the cooled brew. Cold coffee somehow tasted more bitter than it had when hot.

"You're not alone."

"I appreciate the sentiment but ultimately in the end alone is all I have. Face it, I'm going to outlive everyone except your niece. Not as great a future as I had hoped it would be."

"What if I copied regen and never copied another ability again?"

Gabriel sighed, leaning back in his chair. "And? What do you hope that will accomplish?"

Light brown eyes bore into him from across the table. He raised his gaze to meet it and found only Peter's hard stare. His fierce determination - that same look he gave him just before they took the plunge off the roof of Union Wells the night of Claire's homecoming game. A look that once, what felt like a lifetime ago, Gabriel had mistaken for desperation. He knew better now. Years of watching him, of living with seeing that same look every day as the man had struck the wall with a sledgehammer until the hammer would break in his grasp... It was Peter at his most stubborn and challenging. "You'll never be alone again."

"You would willingly spend eternity with me, knowing I could snap at any moment? Knowing I may turn on you and let the monster roam free again?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Gabriel asked, a brow raised as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And don't for one second say it's because of your feelings. What good, logical reason would you have for doing that for me?"

Peter considered his response very carefully. On the one hand his feelings towards Gabriel, since he had come to terms with them as well as since he had confessed them to him, were a driving force in many of his decisions. He had turned against his mother and her Company of individuals trained specifically to fight and capture people like them. He had betrayed his niece, and his own brother's memory, by following his heart and his instincts. On the other hand he knew even in his own diminished ability there were no others out there who could match Gabriel in a fight. Blow for blow, and if given the opportunity to copy what he needed as the fights go on, power for power. He knew his weaknesses, all but one, and after five years alone with him he knew his worst fears.

Gabriel may last one, five, five hundred years before the Hunger drove him to madness again. Within Peter's natural lifespan, sure he could put on the hero cape and go out to stop him. But what about after? Who else knew both the kind, quiet watchmaker Gabriel as well as the walking weapon of mass destruction Sylar? Claire could try, and fail. As she always would given her power was to regrow limbs, not one that could move mountains or obliterate a target.

"Well? I'm waiting, Peter."

He drew a deep breath, and kept him fixed with a steady gaze. "I'm the only one that can stop you."

"Not the answer I was expecting..." He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, keeping his hands in his lap. "What makes you so certain? Even before I gained the ability to heal, our shared history shows I'm the stronger of the two of us. Now with your diminished ability, we both know you're no match for me in a fair fight."

"Because I know you. I've been in your head. I know how you move; how you think. Your methods and your habits."

"If you knew where my kill-spot was, would you use it? Even though you love me, would you kill me if you had no other choice?"

Of the many hard decisions he had made over the last few years, this was one he had struggled with the most. He'd often lay away at night, after a particularly long shift or dealing with gruesome scenes all day and night, and would wonder if the day would ever come that he'd be cleaning up one of Gabriel's messes without even knowing it. He'd wondered what he would do, what he could do, if he ever discovered that his companion, his best friend, his lover had become the monster he had once been. He'd asked himself the same question Gabriel now asked him. And for the first time, he finally had an answer.

"Yes."

Solid, with a sense of finality. Such a small, simple word carried with it the weight of so many unspoken fears and certainties.

This seemed to satisfy the former killer who simply nodded and rose from his seat, collecting his plate and cup. "Is that it?" Peter rose, starting after him but stopping as if remembering to clean up after himself at the last minute. When he came into the kitchen Gabriel had just finished scraping his plate into the trash, and silently took Peter's from him to do the same. "Gabriel. Talk to me. You're not mad."

"I am not."

"So why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset." He scraped Peter's plate.

"You wanted an honest answer. So I gave you one," Peter replied, taking the empty plates and turning to put them in the sink.

"You did."

When he turned back to collect the mugs, Gabriel grabbed him sharply by the wrist. His grip was painfully tight, causing Peter to wince. But he didn't pull away. Instead he stepped closer. "I know you didn't lie," he said to Peter, loosening his grip just a little. "But there are ways to get around my lie detection. Did you mean what you said? You would be the one to kill me if I became Sylar again?"

"If that's what you want, then yes."

"It's not about what I want. It's about what needs to be done. Promise me, Peter." He pulled Peter's wrist up into view, holding it so Peter could see the watch he'd been given the night before. "Swear to me that if I become this again," he said, shaking Peter's wrist just a little for emphasis. "If I start killing, you won't let your feelings get in the way."

"I won't let you fall that far again."

"Promise me. I need to hear you say the words."

Peter drew a deep breath as a dark brown gaze darted all over his face, searching for any hint of a lie, of deception.

"I promise you. If you take a single life that isn't in self defense, I will kill you. Even if it takes me forever, I promise you I won't stop until it's done."

Gabriel released his hold, but Peter didn't drop his arm. Instead, he reached out to put a hand to Gabriel's cheek, making the man continue to look him in the face. He smiled warmly to try and break the tension. "Normally when people talk about being together forever, someone gets a ring."

"I already gave you my watch. What more do you want?"

**o0o**

The passage of Christmas morning was marked by token gifts and cheerful phone calls (and in the case of Emma, text messages) wishing Peter (and sometimes Gabriel) a merry holiday. Two invitations to dinner, an obligatory voice mail left from Angela that sounded as if she were being forced to read from a script, and some of the neighbors singing drunkenly as they went up and down the hallways as they came trudging in from a night of revelry and merrymaking.

They should have known the peace of their lives wouldn't hold out until they were due to leave.

It was the day after Christmas, snow falling in the night to gift the city with a belated white blanket for the Christmas holiday, that the two men made their way to Woodside, NY with a special purpose. Upon arriving at their destination around 9:30am, Peter consulted the directions they had been given by Rebel. As they trudged through the snow down the paths on the map they had picked up at the office when they arrived.

Soon they found what they had come for, and Gabriel stopped as if unwilling to move forward, as if having second thoughts as to why he had come. "You okay?" Peter asked, reaching out to touch his free hand with his own. Bringing skin to skin in the hope that as the empathic ability he had copied that morning would allow him to calm the other's nerves and settle his anxieties. "I can hang back if you want. You know, time alone."

Gabriel squeezed his hand before letting go and taking a step off the path. "No. I need to do this alone," he said. He left Peter to stand and wait for him as he moved among the cold marble and granite stones. He counted them, one by one as he passed them by, searching for a name. There, fourth before the end, the cold plot sat. Unadorned and plain. A marker of cheap granite and bearing a name and two simple dates. A cross engraved between name and dates. He walked calmly, reaching out to brush away the snow from the top with his fingertips before searching for the indention at the base of the stone where a metal plate could be found. Here, too, he brushed away the snow before locating and removing the thin, generic metal vase provided by the cemetery for such a purpose as his.

"Hi mom," he said, unwrapping the white flowers he had brought with him. "I remember you always liked the white ones. We searched all morning for a place that still had them. Most places were trying to unload the overstock of the red poinsettias after Christmas. I can never understand why stores order so many."

He crumpled the paper that had been wrapped around the flowers and shoved it into the pocket of his coat before he cleared a spot of snow and sat on his knees. The ground was damp, seeping into his jeans and the cold creeping into his joints. But he didn't care. He sat, talking to the gravestone as if his mother were still there, still alive and breathing. He apologized for accidentally stabbing her, admitting that in those moments he was blinded by his anger. He had wanted her to die, but he didn't actually mean it.

Peter stood at a distance and watched him. The directions to the plot folded along with the map of the cemetery, both tucked into an inner pocket of his coat. He waited around for over an hour before deciding to trek back and find somewhere to get a hot drink for the both of them. That had been the plan... Until he saw him stepping out from behind a monument marker. Dark skin contrasting against the white snow covered backdrop of the cemetery. It was odd to see the man in clothes meant for colder weather. He'd always ever seen him dressed in a manner more befitting his native homeland of Haiti.

He froze, and the man cam nearer. He had wished then that he had taken another power before he and Gabriel had separated. Anything but empathy. At least something to strike with before he could feel his ability being blocked... but he didn't feel the usual sensation of an invisible weight settling in on him. Nor could he detect any malice or ill will in Rene's emotional field.

"I am not here for your mother," he said when he'd come close enough to be heard. He carried two toss-away cups. He offered one to Peter. "I came to warn you."

"Why? And why did you help me before? Back at my mom's stupid memorial dinner."

"That is between me and your godfather, may he rest in peace with God."

Peter frowned, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

"Do not go back home today. Company agents will be waiting for you with orders to neutralize you and kill him." He nodded towards the path Peter had just come down.

"Ma..."

"No. She is a figurehead. She placed Bennet in charge."

"That explains how Claire got involved in the first attempt..."

"That was a trial. It was to test your loyalty and your responses. You did not perform as predicted." He offered the cup again. This time Peter accepted it.

He sniffed the drink, smelling the hot, fragrant, sugary scent of chocolate. He held the cup with both hands, letting the heat warm the joints of his fingers and hands with a satisfied sigh. "Why now?"

"A girl went to visit her uncle on his birthday and found the door unlocked. She believed she heard signs of a struggle. Her father asked me to erase what she discovered from her memory."

Peter's face paled as he tried not to squeeze the hot cup in his hands. "Oh God... She saw... and I was..." He pulled one of his hands away from the cup and wouldn't look the man in the face. "Well then." He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "I should be getting back then. Before he... uh... Yeah. So thanks, I guess?"

Rene hid a smile behind his own hot drink as Peter stammered and fidgeted before finally turning and walking away from him. "Oh and Peter," he called after him. Peter stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Don't fly. He has people watching the skies."

Peter mumbled his thanks and started walking again as quickly as possible.

When he returned to his waiting spot he found Gabriel just as he had left him. Peter took another sip of hot chocolate before following the footsteps in the snow. If Rene could find them here, then anyone could. They needed to make themselves scarce and get out of town. He slowed his approach the nearer he came. "Gabriel," he said. "Gabriel we need to-"

"Just a few more minutes," he said said, rubbing at his face with a sleeve quickly. Peter nodded and checked the time. A few more minutes passed and he cleared his throat. "We have to go."

Reluctantly Gabriel stood and brushed the snow from his jeans. "Yeah... yeah. Let's go home."

"We can't go back," Peter said, offering him what was left of his cocoa when Gabriel's expression hardened. "Rene found me here. Bennet has our place under watch. If we go back it's not going to end well."

"How did he know where to find us? I didn't even want to come here until last night. What about our IDs?"

Peter suspected, but didn't want to give voice to the idea. If he did then it would mean their lives had been compromised long before they had decided to leave the city. Instead Peter chose to answer the second question and pat his bag. "Right here," he said. "I never leave without them anymore."

The two men walked quickly down the snow covered paths of the cemetery in the opposite direction of whence they had come. It did not take long for Peter to recount his conversation with the Haitian. Gabriel's only remark had been that despite the delicious irony of Claire catching her hero and her worst nightmare in bed together, he couldn't be bothered to find amusement in what her reaction must have been. Not when it had forced them to move their plans ahead sooner than he would have liked.

Upon reaching the exit, they stopped and ducked into a gazebo.

"How many more exits in this section?"

Peter took out the map, studying it quickly. With his finger he traced the exit they'd come into, following the path they had taken to the graveside of Virginia Gray. He pointed out where he had met the Haitian, then the path they had taken. In relation to where they currently were, in a remembrance gazebo by the south exit, there were two others nearby.

"They'll be watched. We can rule out where we came in."

"What if we didn't take an actual exit. You could fly out of here. I could shape-shift, and we meet up-"

"Not an option. I'm not going to save my own skin and leave you here. Besides, Rene said Bennet's got people watching the sky. Maybe other fliers. We came here together, we leave together."

"I can protect myself, Peter."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

Gabriel pointed to an intersection just outside the cemetery. A busy street blocked off by a high stone wall. "Scale the wall, drop to the other side, find somewhere to shape-shift and we'll be clear to make our way to one of my old safe houses."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? The safe house I mean. Don't you think they'll already have it watched?"

"Not this one. If they'd found it, we would have known about it before now."

"You didn't... you didn't use it to hide bodies did you?"

"Of course not. That's barbaric."

"You were a serial killer. I thought serial killers kept trophies from their victims."

Gabriel sighed, pinching between his eyes as if warning off a tension headache. "Not you, too... Look. My trophies were abilities. When you're on the run, you don't exactly carry around a box of keepsakes. Like now." He shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. "Look, do you have a better plan? Because the longer we stand here talking the less time we have to make our getaway."

In the end, Peter copied telekinesis if only to watch their backs as they trekked across the cemetery one more time. They had taken the long way around, checking exits on their way just to be certain that the routes were closed off to them. Before the gazebo, Peter had thought that perhaps they were just being a little overly paranoid. However when Gabriel's Hunger could sense that some of the well dressed men and woman mingling around the exits had abilities? There could be only one explanation. His name, his parentage, no longer came with a free pass.

When they came upon the stone wall dividing the cemetery from the rest of the world outside, Peter couldn't help but feel amused. All that stood between them and total freedom, once again, was a wall. "Use telekinesis to reach out and get a firm grip on the top. It will keep you steady and reduce slipping. When you're on the other side, use it to cushion your drop so you don't break your legs."

"Do that a lot then?"

"I used to," Gabriel said. "You first. I'll cover," he said, turning his back to Peter so he could watch they way they'd come. The moment Peter disappeared over the top, Gabriel followed.

**o0o**

Two young women ran through the streets of New York City. Their clothes were ill fitting, their shoes a bit too big. But the inconvenience served only to slow them, not stop them. It did not go beyond their notice that once in a while security cameras would pan away as they ducked into alleyways or scaled a wall here and there.

"How much farther?" called the red head, freckled cheeks chapped by the winter chill as she and her companion came to a stop in an alley, an entrance to the subway just on the other side. "I think I've got blisters on my feet and my jeans keep dragging no matter how many times I tighten my belt to keep them up."

"Stop complaining, Peter," the second woman said. She stood a bit taller than the ginger lass, so the men's clothes hung a little better from her frame. Black hair had been pulled back into a loose, frizzy tail with a shoelace as it was all Gabriel could think to grab in order to keep the messy mane under some semblance of control.

"Yeah? Well not all of us can just heal blisters as they happen. Or have mastered who the hell we turn into!"

"I told you to brush someone closer to your own height and build. Now come on. Down into the tunnels and we'll be there soon." Gabriel started for the end of the alley, Peter plodding along behind him with a groan.

"At least tell me how much longer I've got to look like the Wendy's mascot?!."

"We'll be there soon."

**o0o**

Soon turned into hours of crawling through abandoned maintenance shafts once they skirted around the active rail lines. Though Peter was grateful to be able to shift back into his own form again, the blisters healing as his body transformed to it's proper shape.

The safe house turned out to be an unfinished station somewhere in Brooklyn. "Hello!" Gabriel had called when they came out of a partially collapsed tunnel. "Anyone home?!"

"Why would anyone-" Peter began as he brushed himself off, trying to rid himself of the dirt and the muck. Footsteps echoed in the darkness before a bright light forced the men to shield their eyes from it.

"It's alright, you can shut off the light show now!"

Peter stepped past Gabriel, still having to shield his eyes from the light. "Tracy?"

"Great. It's the boy scout. We should off him now before dear old mommy realizes he's missing."

The floodlights were suddenly out. Gabriel reached out to steady Peter, brushing his hand brief enough for the man to reach out with his ability and copy regeneration to fix his eyesight. "Lay one hand on Peter and I'll get to play around with what makes you special."

"Enough, both of you!"

"He's a Petrelli. They're all the same. Two faced, backstabbing, lying, cheating-"

"He's not like the others, Barb."

Peter leaned in close, never taking his eyes off the two identical women up on the platform above. "How did you find out about this place again?"

"Trust me. We'll be fine here a for a while. Then we'll run away to the circus just like we planned."

"I don't like this."

"Neither do I."

Above them the two women continued until a third face popped up with a walkie talkie in his hand. "Hey, he says to show 'em through to command." After more protests from one of the twins, rather, triplets if Peter remembered correctly, the two men were allowed to come up from the tunnels into the old abandoned station.

A shanty town had been built up in the space, with hovels built of whatever materials could be found and drug down. None of it seemed permanent and all of it seemed to be a fire trap. As they were led through the maze of the shanty town, it was obvious what the place was. A shelter, a haven for people like them. People who had nowhere else to go.

As they walked, Peter trailing behind Gabriel and their guide, he couldn't help but feel his heart breaking. Some of the inhabitants were barely old enough to look after themselves. For the first time in a truly long time, Peter felt something. More than righteous anger; more than the ravenous hunger of desire that Gabriel seemed to spark in him with just a look; more than the mere content that his life was finally peaceful and pleasant. He felt pity. He felt sadness and sorrow and the dying light of hope around him. It closed in on him, threatening to drag him under and drown him in its silent suffering. He knew he hadn't taken Empathy from Gabriel at the entrance. Only regen. So how was he...

He remembered a rooftop in spring. A him that he had yet to be cleaning out Claude's pigeon roost. A him that had regained his true power, and used it openly with little regard for who may see him. A Peter with a scar across his face, but lacking the bitterness the first future version he had met carried inside.

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Peter?" When had he stopped walking? When had he knelt down to help this kid pick up their spilled bag of broken toys? He looked up to see Gabriel looking down at him, concern etched across his brow. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, wiping at his face and getting to his feet. He watched the girl run off, clutching her bag tightly. "How did all these people get here? Why are they living like this?"

Gabriel squeezed his shoulder before letting it go and urging Peter ahead of him.

At the end of the path through the shacks and shanties, they were led to the door of what, had the station ever actually been finished, would have been the administration offices. "Through there. Take a left at the end and then follow that to the fourth door on the right. He's been expecting you."

Gabriel nodded, making sure Peter went in ahead of him. They followed the directions given, and stopped in front of the door. They'd noticed various labels slapped or scribbled upon doors they had passed. Medic. Security. Food. Supplies. Weapons. That one had a lock on it.

This one... this door simply had a symbol scribbled on it. A pyramid with a stylized eye in the center. Unsure what else to do, they knocked.

A buzzer sounded, and Peter opened the door. Inside the room was illuminated by monitors and televisions. A hodge-podge of computers made a central bank on the far side of the room. A web of wires and cables crisscrossed the ceiling and the floor.

"Rebel."

"Gabe."

"You're a kid?! When you'd said you were a kid, I thought maybe 16 or 17. You're what, twelve?" Peter stared at the teenage boy sitting at a table with a laptop open.

"I've told you this already. I have a strict rule about not killing children."

"And now you know why I prefer to text instead of talk."

"Wait... wait. I think I dreamed about you once. Your mom hit him with a parking meter."

Micah beamed proudly. "Yeah... she was like that," he said, taking his hand off the laptop and getting up to offer it to Peter. "I know this place isn't much to look at, but we try not to keep people here too long."

"What is this place?"

"It's a halfway station. A safe haven on the railroad for people like us. We try to save as many as we can. But sometimes... things don't turn out so well. Orphans need somewhere to go. Families left behind when the Company or government agents storm in. We had to put them somewhere until we can get them a real home."

Gabriel had to admit he was impressed. Micah had put the space to much better use than Gabriel ever had. A place to hide and lick his wounds. To play around with new abilities before going back out on the hunt. A serial killer's den had become a thriving sort-of community, working to help the ones harmed by the collateral damage of the human-Specials conflict. The victims left behind by the Company. The fugitives running from the government. If not for the temptation of the Hunger rearing it's ugly head from time to time, controlled by a combination of physical exhaustion and meticulous and tedious routine, he could see himself settling in. Even helping. With all the abilities he already had, he could fight and protect. He could, if given enough time to examine and study the human body in greater detail, perform precision surgery with immediate wound cauterization thanks to his ability to be a walking defibrillator. Regeneration meant he could never get sick, never get hurt, so he couldn't spread disease in such a tightly packed refugee community. He could recharge generators with a single touch.

He could be useful. He could be needed here.

Absently Peter reached out to stroke Gabriel's arm, pulling the man back out of his own head as Micah and Peter continued to talk about the refuge and why the two of them sought to hide there for now. Without question, Micah arranged for room and board and the two were escorted to another part of the unfinished underground rail station. Quieter. More private. But still little more than squalor. Though it was warmer than the street and hidden from hostile eyes.

"Main generators are cut after 9pm and we start up the night shift with low power at 9:15. Main generators are cut back on, barring emergency, at 6am sharp. Your block meets in the mess for meals at 8 and 8."

"Where's that?"

"Platform six. Get lost, just follow the hungry mouths." Their escort tipped her hat to them from the doorway of their small accommodation. Just big enough for the two of them. Two small cots, each with a single pillow and threadbare blanket sitting on top. Two strips of white holiday lights had been strung up. One midway down the scrap metal walls, the other lined the ceiling along three of the four walls. It provided them with just enough light to see without being too bright or taxing on the generators.

"Any other questions? Only, I've still got a job to get on with."

"No," Gabriel said as Peter set his bag down on one of the cots. "Thank you. Tell Rebel for us that while I'm here if there is anything that needs repairing my specialty is clockwork and other gear based mechanisms."

"Not much call for that here but I'll pass it along," she said with a kind smile. "Always looking for volunteers in security, medical, and rescue though so if you plan on staying a while... If that'll be all?" It was clear she was anxious to get back to her duties in the refuge, so Gabriel nodded as Peter thanked her for her time. "Alright gentlemen. Have a good evening," she said as she turned to go. But stopped for a moment longer. "And welcome to Arbra."

"Strange name," Gabriel remarked, missing Peter's smile but not his emotional wave of amusement.

"These are strange times, mister," she said, closing the metal panel that served as their door. Gabriel spotted a latch on their side, and wordlessly locked it behind her.

Gabriel shrugged off his bag and dropped it to the floor before he sat down on the cot across from Peter. He sighed heavily, as if relieved of a heavy burden while Peter began to root around in his bag. He produced two full sets of clothing right down to the socks. So much so that it should not have fit into a bag that size. When Peter caught him staring, he shrugged with his head down and mumbled. "Nathan showed me how. After he came home from boot camp." At this Gabriel nodded, looking away and back to his own bag. Inside sat one of his tool kits. The one Peter first bought for him in the early days of their real world cohabitation. Though they were not as precise, nor small enough for the most delicate of tasks occasionally required for time piece repair, the set held a significant amount of personal value.

It had been a gift given in good faith and nothing more. Encouragement to take up his old work again and find the man he used to be before the ugliness; before the blood and the death tainted his soul. Alongside it a smattering of trinkets he could easily turn to gold and sell off without worry. A clean shirt. A pair of socks. Two thick books. And a small box of raisins of questionable age and quality. But nevertheless, he at least had a snack.

Peter was meticulously unrolling the clothes that had been so tightly packed to take up as little space in his bag as possible when he spoke again. "Arbra was a planet in the _Star Wars_ comics back in the eighties," he said. "There was a rebel alliance base there called Haven Base. It was undetected until after the war."

"Fitting name then. Still strange."

"How did they even know about this place though? I mean, we had to crawl through-"

"I told Rebel about it. I used to hide here sometimes. Even before my abilities." He accepted the bundle of clothes Peter held out to him, unrolled but neatly folded. He held them in his lap. "Life with Martin and Virginia was... difficult. More so after Martin abandoned us. After learning about different abandoned stations around the city for a project in high school I decided to look for some of them. This was the only one near enough to completion to make a good hiding place when I needed to escape from mother's delusions."

"I'm sorry," Peter said softly, standing only to cross the distance and sit beside him. Outer thigh pressed to outer thigh. Shoulder pressed to shoulder. It was a simple gesture. A silent reassurance that had been present in their complicated relationship since the last year behind the wall. It had at that time been only the mutual reassurance of human contact in a world of nothingness and touch starvation. Now in the face of their closer intimacy it was soothing. A silent statement of affection and comfort.

"Don't be. I'm not. I know it's terrible here... so many people packed together. Feeling hopeless. Nothing left to live for and just trying to survive. But my need to run away gave these people a safe place to hide. Every decision we make has a ripple effect that we can't possibly fathom. I didn't think I would ever end up a wanted criminal when I stole a post-it note from Chandra Suresh. One split second decision set me on a course that two years ago I could only read about in books." He shrugged, his shoulder rubbing against Peter's.

They sat together for a while before the strands of lights flickered. Peter held his wrist up to his face to see the watch clearer. Lights out time. Peter gathered up their things and set them in a corner while Gabriel pushed the two cots together. Peter slept curled into his side as Gabriel lay with an arm wrapped protectively around him. He could not sleep. Instead, he lay staring at the ceiling of their small room and listened to Peter's steady breathing in the dark as they lay beneath the two threadbare blankets.

Gabriel knew what lay ahead for them. He knew all the way back in March when he'd emptied Peter's old bag in the closet. Dumping out the pencils and sketches the man had tried to hide. Scenes of Peter's heroics on the job. Of Claire's double life as an innocent college co-ed and agent in training. Of Angela's double dealings and Hiro's retiring from acts of heroics.

He knew of intricate and detailed drawings torn from corners of hospital paperwork showing the two of them laughing at a hot dog stand. Carefully drawn images in ballpoint pen on cardboard panels from medical supply boxes that showed himself hunched over at his desk working. Or himself and Peter walking side by side, huddled together against the cold. Scenes from their life together at Peter's apartment blended in with events that were now unfolding before them, and more that still had yet to happen. Two men proudly standing either side of a teenage boy Gabriel had never met. A woman in a large straw sun hat, smiling up from a table at the viewer, one hand covered by a glove while the other, bare, held up in offering. Peter's bloodied face and Samson Gray's rotten toothed grin, free of the mask providing the oxygen the man desperately needed to live.

Brief glimpses of a future they never spoke of. Gabriel because he understood that they were hidden from him for a reason. Peter because he couldn't bring himself to dwell on what he had to gain for fear of having it all ripped away from him again.

All this, Gabriel had known. Had seen scribbled and sketched on pages and panels tucked in their closet months ago in his haste to get a second bag in which to carry his clothes before running away to the circus. But it was the path to that future that held uncertainty. The journey ahead to their happier ending that concerned him - he knew from Peter that no future was ever set in stone. But for the first time they had one to work towards bringing to fruition rather than fighting to prevent.

He had proven himself beyond a doubt to the only one who took the time to understand him and the burden his ability truly placed upon him. The Hunger remained, and he continued to fight against it every day. But now, Gabriel had decided, his self flagellation must come to an end.

Peter stirred. Gabriel tightened his arm and Peter stilled again.

And Gabriel remained still. Silent. Resting though he did not need it. Whatever the road to their future held, it could wait for the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I may come back to this and continue the story further, but I'm happy with how I left it for now, with a few glimpses of the future (as few as they are) showing they'll eventually get a happy ending so that if I never come back to it, well, we know the endgame already.


End file.
